


La Vie Est Drole

by LunaKat



Series: C'est La Vie-verse [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Possible spoilers (though i will try to avoid them), Present Tense, daily drabble challenge, introspective, tied in with my nuzlocke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-07 23:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 20,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12242982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaKat/pseuds/LunaKat
Summary: A series of drabbles for the month of October. Updates daily.(This is related to my Pokemon Y Nuzlocke, C'est La Vie. It is not necessary for you to read C'est La Vie, though it is recommended.)





	1. day 1: bite the bullet

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! For those of you who don't know me, I'm LunaKat, author of a current Y storylocke called "C'est La Vie". Due to some motivation struggles, I've decided to start a drabble challenge involving the characters of CLV in order to hopefully reinvigorate my motivation. As such, I will be posting one drabble each day, the length usually between 200 to 1500 words. I already have all the themes lined up, and I am going through school right now so it might be difficult, but I am going to try and commit to this.
> 
> While I'm doing this, C'est La Vie will be put on a temporary hiatus.
> 
> I will try to avoid spoilers as much as I can. Some of these will be plot relevant, others not so much, and I will to to keep everyone as in-character as possible.
> 
> Again, it is not necessary for you to read C'est La Vie, though it is recommended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word count: 923**

**1\. bite the bullet**  
_—having to do something difficult or uncomfortable_

 

 

"I'm not going to start over, Hakase. Don't be stupid."  
  
Sycomore sighs and massages his forehead. He's in his office right now, behind his desk, because when he's in here under the guise of doing "professional" work, no one bothers him. Before him stands a young woman with too-long dark hair and severe blue eyes and arms crossed like chains around a treasure chest.  _She's very much like her mother_ , he thinks with some amusement.  _She's stubborn enough, that's for sure, and definitely inherited that snide, condescending attitude..._  
  
He leans forward, steepling his hands, and tries to be charming. "Ma cherie, you make it sound like I'm asking you to sleep with someone. I'm not."  
  
Celestine's nose wrinkles. "Why do you always tie things back to sex?"  
  
"I'm a very sensual person," he says jokingly. "I happen to like sex. You should try it. It's most enjoyable."  
  
Her jaw works in a way that indicates annoyance. "Yeah. I'll take a hard pass on that."  
  
He shrugs. "Your loss. But anyway, back to the matter at hand—"  
  
"You, of all people, not that I can't start over," she snaps, interrupting him. It explodes out of her like she has been holding it in since forever, and it makes Sycomore arch a brow.  
  
"Again, you make it sound worse than it is, ma cherie." He tilts his head subtly to the side. "Is starting from scratch really such a bad thing?"  
  
She stares at him like he's stupid. "Yes. That's the whole fucking point."  
  
He fights a smirk of amusement. "Well, it'll certainly make any progress you have more impressive."  
  
Celestine scoffs. "Forget progress. Hakase—"  
  
" _And_ —it comes with the bonus of nostalgia too," he tells her, trying to make it sound as enticing as possible. "When was the last time you can honestly say you felt the wonder of beginning as a Trainer, that newness of stepping into the wild for the first time... Oh, I can't imagine it."  
  
"Hakase—"  
  
"I mean, I was always more of a scholar in my youth. Did you know I finished high school at fifteen." He leans back, recalling his youth—the serenity of Couriway town, the way the falls looked in the sunset, the pastoral beauty that could only come from the countryside. Ahhh, memories. "I always wondered what it would be like, if I'd become a Trainer. It wasn't all that popularized back then, though. See, in Champion Elouan's age—"  
  
"For the love of the Sacred Birds, Hakase,  _let me talk_!"  
  
He falls silent, blinking. Oh, yeah, she's definitely Jo's daughter. No questions about that.  
  
Celestine took a deep breath. "I cannot start over. One, it's too dangerous. I need sufficient protection."  
  
Sycomore arches a brow in bewilderment. "Didn't you once claim to be able to break a man's leg?"  
  
She shoots him a venomous glare that told him to shut the fuck up, so he shrugs and does so. "...two, I don't the time or patience for it."  
  
"Time is relative. And patience is easily earned."  
  
" _Hakase_."  
  
He holds his hands out in a nonthreatening manner. "Ma cherie, as reasonable as you must  _think_  your arguments are—"  
  
"Excuse me?" she says, her eyes widening.  
  
"—my hands are tied," he continues, ignoring her interruption. "It's League policy, and I have no say in the matter."  
  
She stares at him with the most spectacularly unimpressed expression he has ever seen, even rivaling her old lady. Jo would be so proud.  
  
Fine. Time to drop the charming act. It's clearly not working, not that he expected it too, because Jo never went for it either. "Look. While I do have some sway because of my ties to the IP, but I still have to follow procedure. And unless you can magically bring your old team here to Kalos, all I can give you is a low-level starter, same as all beginning Trainers."  
  
Her lips curl into a snarl. "That's bullshit."  
  
Sycomore shrugs and leans back into his chair. "We live in a world of bullshit, ma cherie. The trick is how we shovel it."  
  
"How poetic," she deadpans.  
  
He raps his fingers on the wooden surface of his desk. "I can't change League policy, Celestine."  
  
"But—"  
  
"Ma cherie, this is the way the world is. You must deal with it. If you can't, you will never get anywhere." He gives her a meaningful look. "And that means wading through bullshit from time to time. Oui? Comprendre?"  
  
"Stop saying things in Kalosian." She uncrosses her arms, clenching her fists and narrowing her eyes. "I. Don't. Speak. Kalosian."  
  
"Then I suggest you learn," Sycomore answers smoothly.  
  
At this, Celestine looks absolutely murderous. Sycomore weathers her glare impassively. She's a bit like a rabid Dragon-Type—terrifying at first, but not so much once you grow used to her moods and figure out how much of it is actually bluster.  
  
Realizing how utterly she is failing at being intimidating, Celestine huffs and storms out, muttering something that sounds particularly violent in Kantonese. Sycomore lets out an amused chuckle as she leaves.  
  
He cannot pretend he understands. He doesn't. He isn't the one in an unfamiliar region, off on a dangerous quest. That thought sobers him a bit. But still, she is the one undertaking something so difficult, so arduous. She's the one who is taking the bullet and trying to catch it with her teeth.  
  
Sycomore hopes she has strong enough teeth. But if she's anything like her mother, he doesn't doubt that she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly plot-related, but it was fun to write.
> 
> See you tomorrow,  
> Luna


	2. day 2: hamartia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 305**

**hamartia**  
_—a fatal flaw leading to the downfall of a tragic hero or heroine_

 

 

You are alone in this world.  
  
Sure, you have friends. You have people who you love and are close to, whose company you thoroughly enjoy. But you are still you, and they are them, and even though you can pretend as much as you like, you will never be able to understand the inner workings of another person's mind. Like every human being in this word, you were born unique and individual and unlike anyone else. There are correlations between you and others, but with the exception of telepaths and mind readers, there will never be anyone who can fully understand you.  
  
Since you were young, there's always been a bit of a glass wall between you and your peers. There's an odd duality, in which you are either exulted in the honor of your parents' lineage, or ostracize out jealousy for the same reason. It wasn't until you were much older than you understood this, why some people were so eager to befriend you and why others were so eager to bully you, to assert dominance over you.  
  
Fame is a fickle thing.  
  
The thing is, the legacy is a brand on you, a watermark on everything you do and say. It is part of your name, and it defines you. That will never change. No one will ever look at you without subconsciously considering the legacy you bear. They might get used to it, to the point where the novelty might wear off, but it will always be there—like your shadow, it follows you, stalks you.  
  
"You don't have to be a Trainer—not if you don't want to," your Mere once told you.  
  
But you are already shouldering this legacy of theirs, so it's really makes no difference to you, one way or another, if you take it all the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is slightly spoilery, but I couldn't resist.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	3. day 3: cardinal sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 521**

**cardinal sin**   
_—a deadly sin or a serious error in judgement_

 

 

  
  
The door slammed, and Trevor massaged his shoulder where Shauna had hit him. Hard. As short and feminine as she was, the girl was deceptively strong. He could feel a bruise forming already.  
  
"Well," Tierno said optimistically, despite the fact that there was no reason at all to be optimistic, "that went terribly."  
  
Trevor grunted. "I don't even know that I  _said_."  
  
Tierno stared at him, blinking. "You told her to 'calm down'."  
  
"And you told her that her friend challenged a Berserker to a battle she can't legally back out of," Trevor retorted. "How did she get madder at  _me_?"  
  
The look Tierno gave him was almost pitying, and it sent a wave of annoyance through Trevor. "You  _never_  tell a girl to calm down, bro. Or a guy. Or anyone who's hysterical, for that matter. It's, like, the cardinal sin of social interaction."  
  
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Trevor said with a frown. How could that be a cardinal sin of social interaction? Wouldn't that be a title more deserving of something like keeping a secret or avoiding your friends for some dumb reason. "Why is that a thing?"  
  
"'Cause you're trying tell people how to feel or act, and they don't like that."  
  
What is this world. Why are people like this.  
  
The flat look Trevor gave must have been an indication of his exasperation, because Tierno sighed and clapped Trevor on the shoulder. "Don't worry, man. People're weird that way. You'll get it."  
  
"If I haven't figured out yet, what makes you think I ever will?" Trevor deadpanned. It wasn't that he was particularly bad with people, just that a lot of them tended to be stupid and irrational.  
  
"You've got a whole lifetime," Tierno said reassuringly, in a classically Tierno manner. Tierno doesn't overreact like most people, but he also doesn't think they're all idiots, either. He can sympathize, can understand thought processes and emotional patterns that Trevor can only understand on a theoretical level, whereas Tierno can connect on a personal level. He was optimistic in a way that Trevor could honestly not comprehend. That was something he and Shauna shared, whereas Trevor and Calem themselves shared a slight pessimism that bonded them quite well.  
  
It was a wonder they were friends at all, the four of them, after all this time and having changed so much.  
  
Trevor shrugged Tierno's hand off his shoulder. "Our formative years are almost over, y'know. This is the time when our neural pathways are shaped and—are you listening?"  
  
"Sorry." Tierno rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I was just thinking about what we're going to say to Serie."  
  
Right. They were going to have to talk to Calem's cousin as well, preferably before Shauna blew up at her.  
  
Trevor grunted. "Let's go find her, then."  
  
Tierno nodded and they started walking. After a moment of silence, Tierno hummed and said, "I thought out formative years were, like, up until age ten."  
  
"No. You see, 'formative' is defined as..."  
  
And from there, it devolved into Trevor giving a lecture of Tierno listening just to humor him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize these two kinda get sidelined in-story, so I wanted to give them a bit more depth.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	4. day 4: skin of your teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 664**

**skin of your teeth**   
_—used in regard to narrowly avoiding a disaster_

 

 

  
"I don't  _want_  to play this game," I whine.  
  
My brothers—two of them, both older than me (Sage is the oldest, Apollo is the second oldest) and act as though that somehow makes them better than me—exchange these smug glances, ones that clearly say,  _oooh, this is a way we can mess with the runt_.  
  
"Ah  _c'mon_  Delph," says Apollo in a smooth way that makes the fur on the back of my neck prickle. He never talks like that unless he wants to trick me--that's what Mama says! "It's just a little splash war. What's the big deal?"  
  
The big deal is that we're Fire-Types and we shouldn't be too close to the water. Not while we're still young and while our Aura is still developing—at least, that's what Oncle says. Oncle's really smart, and I sometimes sneak in to listen to him when he lectures his human students. I think it's interesting, but Moira (my older sister, she's older than me but younger than Apollo) says it makes me a nerd. I don't know what a "nerd" is, but it sounds like a bad thing, the way Moira says it.  
  
So I don't tell them that. I just cast a wary look at the pond, where these big orange-white fish called "koi" swim around lazily. Mama says they're all the way from the Old Continent out east. I've never been, but I don't think I want to go there, if there are more of those fish there. They have these big, beady eyes that stare into your soul. No joke!  
  
"Unless you're afraid of the koi," Apollo teases, eyes glinting. "I once heard Monsieur Dexio say they eat baby Fennekin."  
  
I gulp.  
  
"Nah." Sage dips a paw in experimentally and uses it to flick some crystal drops across the blue surface. The water ripples where the drops land, and I watch, amazed, as the koi's images dissolve. "Look, they're too scared. They swim away from the ripply parts, see?"  
  
It's true—they  _do_  swim away from the ripply parts. I wonder why.  
  
"Yeah!" Apollo says brightly. "C'mon! They won't bother us. We can splash around as much as we want!"  
  
I swallow and flatten my ears. "I dunno..."  
  
"Bah! Stop bein' such an  _enfant_!" Apollo shoves me roughly.  
  
And the next thing I know, I'm underwater. The water is  _everywhere_ , it's in my eyes and in my mouth, and I can't  _breathe_. I thrash, trying to get my head back up above the surface, but I can't  _breathe_  and—and—  
  
I'm tired. I'm  _really_  tired.  
  
Silvery bubbles rise to the surface.  
  
The water is peaceful...  
  
A pair of strong arms scoop me out, and then I'm coughing, vomiting water. It's  _really_  cold, and my whole body is trembling.  
  
"What were you two  _thinking_?" comes a shouting voice from above. I know that voice! That's M. Dexio! He's Oncle's assistant.  
  
I look down, and Sage and Apollo have their ears flat, looking quite scared. The thing is, my brothers don't get scared easily, so I know not to look up. I definitely don't want to see the expression on M. Dexio's face that's scaring them so badly.  
  
"I-I was an accident," Apollo stammers. "I d-didn't mean to push him in! I w-was just—"  
  
"You shouldn't be this close to the koi pond in the first place," M. Dexio interrupts frostily. "None of you can swim. This could have happened to anyone of you three."  
  
Apollo and Sage exchange a glance, eyes as wide as dinner plates.  
  
M. Dexio's voice remains harsh. "From now on, you're all to say away from the koi pond. Do you understand?"  
  
They nod hastily. I'm still trembling in his arms, puffing my fur up to try and stay warm.  
  
"Good," he says, and his voice warms a little. Then, addressing me, he says, "Alright, Delphi let's get you inside and in a nice cozy blanket, okay?"  
  
My teeth chatter as I nod. "O-Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delphi is the youngest of four siblings, having two brothers and one sister. This takes place when they're all under a year old.
> 
> I love this child he is so precious.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	5. day 5: flawless victory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 300**

**flawless victory**  
_—a success that is undisputed and uncontested_

 

 

  
The Sand Attack was flawless. It was enormous, a thick, blinding fog of dust and sand and pulverized earth. This was the perfect exemplar of a condensed attack at its finest.  
  
Tanner—though he wasn't called Tanner yet—felt his chest swell with pride.  
  
His master, however, was far less impressed.  
  
"Master" was a good way to put it. Not a Trainer, a "master". A man from the northern region of Sinnoh, a bird keeper in his youth and now a boastful breeder of the best birds in the world, a connoisseur of all things fine and feathered. Tanner, right now unnamed and one of many purebred siblings, receives top-quality training in the form of specialized strength training, PokeRus therapy, condensing, etc. It is enough to instill a sense of pride in him.  
  
But pride was a luxury. Pride couldn't be afforded to a nameless sibling, one of many chicks who were identical in every single aspect. No, he had to earn his name.  
  
And earning meant battling. Survival of the fittest.  
  
About a week after the condensing training regimen finished, the master pitted them against each other, tournament-style. The strongest wins. The winner gets a name.  
  
Not-yet-Tanner bristled with anticipation.  
  
He ended up pit against one of his many brothers, who was of a slightly smaller stature. Easy, Not-yet-Tanner thought. He'd win easily.  
  
His opponent, however, was blinding fast, struck hard and took every hit in stride. Not-yet-Tanner tried desperately to keep up. He struggled and thrashed and attacked, but eventually the whistle was blown and Not-yet-Tanner collapsed in a heap, gasping.  
  
When he raised his eyes, his master was looking praisingly at the victor, but didn't even spare Not-yet-Tanner a glance. Bloody, bruised, and broken, Not-yet-Tanner lowered his head.  
  
It was a flawless victory—just not for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Tanner piece. I wanted to delve a little more into his past, and this felt like a good time.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	6. day 6: through the looking glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 223**

**through the looking glass**  
_—another way of looking in, already on the other side_

 

 

  
  
Tyler peers through the cabin's window, holding his breath. He's been gone for less than a week, and already that skinny bitch has torn up the study, disposed of years of papers and notes and notebooks. Years of effort, work—blood, sweat, and tears.  
  
The trashcans are overflowing with valuable data.  
  
Tyler's paws curl into fists, and if he had teeth, he'd be clenching them. That bitch. She had no respect for her grandfather's life work, all the arduous laboring over the last decade. All she cared about was underwire bras, making porn films, and getting ahead in the world by sucking—  
  
Movement sounds from inside the cabin and Tyler jumps. He bolts into the bushes and hides, watching as a thin woman in a cheap, too-big fur coat that seems to swallow her whole. She's holding a broom and scans the area, like she was expecting Tyler. Which was reasonable, considering Tyler has visited the cabin at least ten times in the last seven days.  
  
She lingers on the porch for approximately two minutes, during which Tyler is sure he's going to suffocate from holding his breath, before she slips back inside. His heart aches a little when she closes the door behind her, like she owns the place.  
  
Which she does. Because his owner is gone.  
  
Grieving and defeated, Tyler retreats, blinking rapidly to keep himself from sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew immediately that I wanted to do a Tyler piece for this prompt.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	7. day 7: heart on your sleeve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 207**

**heart on your sleeve**  
_—to expose yourself freely and with little restraint_

 

 

 

It is in your nature to unveil and display every emotion that lurks under the surface of your skin. You are an honest creature, one who is prone to displays of truth and bursts of sincerity, and many find this to be quite admirable.  
  
However, you don't see what could possibly be inspiring about this. Yes, it takes confidence. Yes, most people aren't as brave as you. But once you get into the grove, it's really not so hard. Once you get into the practice of it, and stop worrying so much about the opinions of others, it becomes as easy as breathing.  
  
So, yes, there will be people like Celestine who will think you're strange for being so openly affectionate, people like Calem who will think you're strange for not factoring in the opinion of other, and people like Trevor who will be utterly baffled by your earnestness.  
  
But you are of a different breed than them, a creature of your own making. You understand them because you once were them, but have since taken yourself into your own hands and, like a hunk of clay, molded yourself into a different shape.  
  
You have made your own destiny. Someday, you hope others will learn how to do this as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is total word vomit.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	8. day 8: point blank

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 553**

**point blank**  
_—blunt, direct_

 

 

  
"Why am I helping you pick out an outfit?" Mint drawled.  
  
"Because I have zero sense of style," her Trainer replied innocuously. She held up two shirts that were both pink and had ruffles—Mint could not honestly tell the difference. It was an exercise in futility, in Mint's honest opinion. Shauna held both shirts up. "It's a painful side-effect of hanging around a pack of boys so often. But that's besides the point—which one looks better?"  
  
"Why are you doing this?"  
  
Shauna blinked. "Beg pardon?"  
  
"Dressing up, wearing perfume and lipgloss." Mint gestured vaguely to the containers of said substances that sit on Shauna's dresser. "What's up with that?"  
  
Shauna frowned. "I want to look nice. Sue me."  
  
"You  _always_  look nice," Mint retorted, crossing her arms. She fell back into a sitting position, into the plushness of the comforters on her Trainer's bed.  
  
Shauna grinned. "Well, thank you! Aren't you just made of sugar?"  
  
" _But_ ," Mint continued, an edge in her voice, "this is an obsessive-level that I've only ever seen that one time you were dating—" She stopped, the pieces clicking, and she groaned, throwing her paws over her face. "Please tell me you're not interested in the girl who set up shop in the extra room down the hall."  
  
"What?  _No_!"  
  
Mint lowered her paws and glared. Shauna looked genuinely shocked, which made sense, because the girl's subconscious flitted all over the place before her conscious mind could keep up, nor did she think too deeply about her actions or moods or the subconscious causalities of them. "Are you sure?"  
  
Shauna opened her mouth to deny it, but then she paused, closed her mouth, and her eyes gained that unfocused quality they always got when she was thinking deeply. "Um, well... I mean, she is cute—"  
  
Mint groaned so loud you could hear it in Aquacorde. She knew it! Her Trainer was, after all, a cotton-brained idiot. No offense to Shauna or anything, but why couldn't Mint's Trainer be more like the Lafayette boy, who seemed to delight in battle the same way she did? Hayami was goddamn lucky. Not that Shauna was bad, just that they were night and day.  
  
"You don't even know if she's straight or not," Mint reminded her, a little more harshly than she'd intended.  
  
Shauna blinked rapidly, then her shoulders went slack. "You're right. I don't. I'm... being ridiculous, oh my god."  
  
Mint crossed her arms. "More like jumping the gun, but yeah, slow down a little, kid."  
  
Shauna gave her a funny look. "I'm older than you. Don't call me 'kid'."  
  
"Maybe, but I feel like your goddamn mom sometimes." Mint got to her feet again, brushing off the imaginary dust. "Someone's gotta reign you in, and the task seems to fall to me way more often than it oughtta."  
  
"You don't keep me grounded," Shauna retorted. "You're just cranky and lack a filter."  
  
Mint hopped off the bed. "Probably. Hey, what's for lunch?"  
  
Shauna rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I'm a blunt pain." Mint crossed her arms again and gave Shauna meaningful look. "But seriously, find out if the girl is interested before you get all lovesick. I don't wanna have to worry about you more than usual."  
  
Shauna's mouth curled. "...thanks, Minty."  
  
"Don't mention it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like Mint. She's a grouchy old grandma-type, even though she's technically only nine years old (which is twenty-seven in Chespin years).
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	9. day 9: tempest in a teacup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So today was Canadian Thanksgiving and I spent the day with my family. It was pretty fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 507**

**tempest in a teacup**   
_—a huge argument over something insignificant_

 

 

  
  
"I cannot BELIEVE you would DARE to  _insult_  me like this!"  
  
"Oh for fuck's sake, it's  _not a big deal_."  
  
Delphi shifted his paws nervously, casting nervous looks between his Trainer and his teammate. He didn't particularly know what they arguing about, but it was bad, apparently. Very bad.  
  
"I am totally worthy woman do not UNDERMINE me!"  
  
"Stop talking like you own the world, you damn bird!"  
  
Max was currently taking shelter from the fight behind Delphi, poking out from behind his legs with a nervous twitter. To Delphi's right, Ray had face-palmed and seemed content with hiding his face behind his paw. To his left, Tyler eyed them with a blank, bored look as though he was deigning only to pay them the barest of attention.  
  
"I have a RIGHT to a dignified training method!" Tanner was squawking, feathers puffed out wildly and his eyes blazing with an expression that bordered manic.  
  
Trainer threw her hands in the air in sheer exasperation. "For the  _love of the Genesis_ , it's a proven training method so  _get over yourself_."  
  
Delphi blinked. And then blinked again. "Are they—  _Ohhhh_ , they're talking about the yarn thing from yesterday."  
  
Tyler tilts his head curiously. "You mean when the blonde lady—"  
  
"Mlle Devereux."  
  
"—wanted us to train by hitting balls of yarn?" the Psyduck finished, not even registering Delphi's interruption.  
  
Delphi heaved a sigh as Trainer and Tanner continued to go back and forth. "Yeah. I think it's called the 'Head It' method. It's supposed to improve accuracy, reflexes, and hand-eye coordination."  
  
"Really?" Tyler eyed Tanner suspiciously as the bird continued to argue with a surprising vehemence, spouting things like "dignity" and "respect" and all that. Delphi didn't really understand it. "Well, it seems his objections are based solely on the perception that the method is beneath him."  
  
Delphi frowned. "But it's a proven method."  
  
Ray made a swirly motion around the side of his head.  
  
"Agreed," Tyler said, somehow understanding what that meant (it wasn't until fifteen minutes later that Delphi would realize it was the "crazy" sign and feel like a total idiot).  
  
"Fine!" Trainer exploded. "The rest of the team will get quality training except you! Satisfied?"  
  
"Wait." Tanner squinted at her, suddenly suspicious for seemingly no reason. "What do you  _mean_  'quality training'?"  
  
Trainer blinked at him with deliberate slowness. "The yarn method? The thing we've been arguing about for the last hour?"  
  
Epiphany lit Tanner's eyes. "Is  _that_  what you were talking about? I thought we were talking about something else."  
  
Delphi marveled at his teammate's thought process while their Trainer's expression went completely, utterly blank. She held a finger up in a one moment gesture, then stalked off to the edge of the clearing.  
  
A moment later, she let out a roar of frustration that made Delphi's fur stand on end, accompanied by several violent kicks into the roots of a nearby tree.  
  
Tanner glanced at them. "The hell is her problem?"  
  
Tyler facepalmed, and Delphi could do nothing but stare and blink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: "Head It" is the name of the yarn minigame in Pokemon Amie.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	10. day 10: bone of contention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 750**

**bone of contention**   
_—a subject or issue of continuous disagreement_

 

 

  
  
Viola was eleven and Alexa was sixteen when Alexa first realized she wasn't the favorite.  
  
It all started when Viola came home with a photograph in a sterling silver frame and their father couldn't take their eyes off it.  
  
Their father worked hard at the Gym, came home late and expected an hour to himself in order to, as he put it, "recharge". After that, the chefs would make dinner, and they would share news about their day, and he would pretend to take an interest in the lives of his daughters (nine times out of ten he was faking it) or dole out praise when he was genuinely impressed (which was rarely).  
  
Acrisius Dupuis was a fickle man, with high expectations that you had to reach to leap just to touch them. And damn, did Alexa leap. She leaped so hard her knees were left aching and her legs begged for reprieve but she kept at it, leaping and leaping and leaping.  
  
It would never be enough.  
  
At dinner (a long, white-clothed table that set so much distance between father and daughters that they may as well have been in different cities altogether), Viola proudly presented her piece. A framed black-and-white photo of a Caterpie, expertly-captured, as it touched its nose to a dewdrop dripping on a leaf. The light fell evenly, the shading was perfect, and their father smiles genuinely when Viola proudly proclaims, "I took this today in photography class, Father—they let us go into the outer edge of Santalune Forest to take it!"  
  
The pride in Acrisius's eyes was so blinding it had Alexa looking down at the table. "You took this, Vivi?"  
  
"Yeah! They gave us these old-fashioned cameras and they let us work in a dark room and everything." Viola tapped the frame, her smile a white crescent. "I went out to buy the frame today. My teacher says it'll last up to five years."  
  
"Can I see?"  
  
Viola passed the frame up. Alexa eyed it sharply, her hands curling into fists so tight she could feel her nails piercing her palms.  
  
"This is gorgeous, sweetheart," Acrisius praised. His eyes glowed. His smile was genuine and warm, the kind of smile a father.  
  
Viola beamed.  
  
"Father, I was accepted as an editor of my school newspaper," Alexa interjected before the entire conversation devolved into their father showering her sister in needless praise. Yes, the picture looked nice. But anyone could point a camera at something and take a picture. Journalism—writing—was an art, one that took years of practice and improvement and hours of editing.  
  
And besides, this was a huge step. A huge achievement. All of Alexa's teachers (except for math, her math teacher was a shriveled old witch) had praised her on her writing skill, saying it was incredibly advanced for her age. Her English teacher had advised her that universities looked at things like this, and it was a good way to improve her writing, to get some experience under her belt. Alexa was so, so proud of this achievement, and she waited for her father to look at her with the same look of pride he usually aimed at her sister.  
  
"That's nice dear," Father said absently. His gaze was still fixed on her younger sister. "So, Viola, what did you think of Santalune Forest. Pretty interesting, eh?"  
  
Alexa felt as though she'd been slapped.  
  
After dinner ends, Viola bounced up to her, sweet and innocent and still drunk on their father's hard-earned praise (only hard earned when it came to Alexa, Viola never had to jump, not once). The sight of her made Alexa strangely bitter, so she focused her gaze on the wall.  
  
"Hey congrats on your paper-thing," Viola said.  
  
Alexa snorted. "Whatever."  
  
She felt Viola's eyes on her, and when she chanced a look at her blonde sister, she found concern in Viola's eyes. "Hey... are you okay, Lexi?"  
  
"Fine," Alexa snapped. Too sharply. It just suddenly occurred to her that only Viola called her "Lexi". Father had a petname for Viola (Vivi), but not for his eldest. She felt her dinner climbing up her throat. "Go away."  
  
Viola blinked, surprised by the frostiness, and lingered for a moment longer. "Okay... But if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here, okay?"  
  
Alexa felt her throat close and her eyes prick as Viola bounded away. She held her head high even as her vision blurred and she stalked down the hall, pretending she didn't want to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this. I wanted to delve a little more into the Dupuis sister's backstories, and I will, of course, do this in-story, but I also wanted to do a little right now.
> 
> Also, Acrisius's name is Greek in original, translated into the Roman alphabet, and means "locust".
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	11. day 11: bastion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 993**

**bastion**  
_—an institution, place, or person that upholds or defends particularly strong morals or principles_

 

 

  
You're so different from everyone else around you. Maybe it's because you're from a different region. Maybe it's because the League is different here, because it this League passive and docile whereas you are used to a Champion whose presence bled into everyday politics, bold and proactive. But your ideals are different from others', a belief in honor and pride and reputation that doesn't seem to hold the same weight here.  
  
Here, it is less about the legacy you leave behind and more about how you live  _this_  life. Berserkers are scrutinized more thoroughly and Reaper Battles are frowned upon. There's a whole list of social faux pas that Hakase gave you, all about manners and formalities and all sorts of shit like that. It was utterly  _baffling_. You seriously wonder how much time people waste on pleasantries and trying not offend each other, mincing words like they definitely wouldn't in Kanto. You suppose that really highlights the differences, the simple manner of speaking to one another--in Kalos, you try to come off as pleasant and sincere even if it means twisting your own words and faking it, while in Kanto you spoke your mind and tried to put enough strength behind you to support your ideals.  
  
Kalos is an old, old region, filled with traditions and lineages that it hasn't yet shed the way Kanto has, hiding inside its own cocoon as if fearing the light of change. Change is trying to poke its head, and while some embrace it, others reject it, and you're not quite sure what constitutes "good change" or "bad change" by Kalosian standards. It irks you, frustrates you. Things were never this entangled in Kanto.  
  
Hakase's aids try to correct your behavior--"smile dear, you have a pretty smile, fake it if you must", "you must wear certain things if you want to blend in", "are you really expecting to get away with wearings your hair like that"--and it all seems to boil down to superficial things, looks rather than beliefs and passions. You are not a materialist or a corporeal being. You are being of passion and flame and a firestorm brimming beneath your skin. You line your words with acid because the sting wakes people up and makes them pay attention. For Bird's sake, you don't just want to go through the motions, you want to be able to feel life as well.  
  
You haven't felt—truly, strongly—in a while now. You'd hoped coming to Kalos would alleviate that, somewhat.  
  
It doesn't, though.  
  
So no, you're not going to conform to Kalos's ideals. DNA be damned, the region is not part of your blood the way Kanto has. You will challenge this, because challenges are acknowledged and legacies are respected, and yes, this isn't Kanto, but fuck it, you don't care. Home is where the heart is and if your heart is in Kanto, then you're technically still there.  
  
...right?  
  
And there's another thing you notice about people here—they're complacent. Maybe that's because, unlike the other regions, Kalos never suffered a disaster during the Age of Heroes. There was no cataclysmic impact that inspired caution and reverence for the life of Trainers into the native populace. Right now, the people are indolent, there are no heroes to turn to, and the League has yet to intervene. This is their jurisdiction, and yet they're doing nothing.  
  
It reminds you of all the stories you've ever heard about the Trainers of Legend--how the Tohjo League didn't even notice the corruption blooming within their own ranks, how the Hoenn Champion failed to move the government into taking the threat of two warring gangs seriously, how Sinnoh was almost ripped to shreds by time and space and yet people only blinked with lackluster gazes. The New Continent is untouched by this, and so there are no revolutionaries to turn to as examples that inspire future generations. People have yet to challenge the status quo. They still think it is an iron-clad force, unbending and indomitable, something that binds you in place like heavy chains, locks you up tight and binding.  
  
No one has broken from the crowd yet and questioned things, has made themselves an anomaly worth looking towards. No one has questioned the assumption that all is well and everywhere is safe, and some people still chuckle and shake their heads dismissively at the mention of Trainers, as though it's not a difficult and respectable profession. As though Trainers aren't revered as protectors and enforcers and trailblazers.  
  
Sensei would fall on her ass laughing if she got a good look at this.  
  
And this is where you are different. While they are caught up with their pleasantries and their materialism and getting ahead and being pleasant, you know different. You think different. You see beyond the painted canvas of serenity and peace—which isn't really peace at all but mere quiet, the kind that comes before the storm breaks—and eye the darkness underneath with a silent challenge.  
  
They are cut from a curtain of hereditary power and faux royalty and politics that entangle worse than a spider's web. You, however, are cut from a tapestry of legends and heroes who were venerated proudly and their stories so interwoven into the Trainer subculture that it practically made it. You share the same passion, the same belief in challenging and changing the world around you rather than simply maintaining it.  
  
So yes, you are different. You are a cultural descendant of trailblazers and heroes, the first of their time. And this because this was the beliefs you were raised on, the thing that taught you to  _fight_  and  _survive_  and gave you  _hope_ in your darkest hour, you will champion them, no matter how out of place they are.  
  
And no matter who challenges you, calls you mad or scowls at you, so long as there is breath in your body, you will defend them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god this is such word vomit I'm so sorry. I have no excuse.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	12. day 12: antithesis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 938**

**antithesis**   
_—a person or thing in direct opposition of someone or something else_

 

 

  
  
It's a bleak day when the funeral is held—Viola dresses in a tasteful black trenchcoat and keeps her eyes lowered respectfully as her father's coffin is lowered into the earth.  
  
About a week later, the Gym is reopened with a new Gym Leader at its head, bearing its weight on her bony shoulders. Viola weathers it with silent resolution, holds her head high and smiles even though she doesn't feel it. Legacy is emphasized only within the League, within the intimate inner workings, the secular web of Gym Leaders and Champions and the Elite Four, and there blood-ties are made to be a sacred thing, family is sanctified and lineage becomes something to be upheld, to be venerated. The Dupuis family, for example, were the Dukes of Santalune, back when there were dukes and marquises and lords, and the family has weathered the ages, has survived and eventually earned its keep as a family of Gym Leaders.  
  
Viola is the heiress, the inheritor of that legacy, and she must wear it like a badge of honor.  
  
A month after the funeral, her sister visits the office, all prim and poised, with a dark pencil skirt and a crimson blouse and a sleek hairdo that makes her look like a big-city kind of girl rather than someone who grew up in the country. Viola feels like a bumpkin in her presence.  
  
Alexa has a Helioptile on her shoulder.  
  
"What brings you here?" Viola asks, standing up from her desk.  
  
Alexa doesn't answer immediately. She lets her eyes scan the office that was once their father's, that Viola has changed ever-so-slightly—taken out the busts of previous family members and taken down the giant tapestry that showcases their family tree—but kept true to his original vision. The green wallpaper stays the same (Alexa has always disliked the color green, she prefers red), and the pictures of Bug Pokémon that Viola took over the years and are set in gilded frames remain as well.  
  
"I wanted to see how you were doing?" Alexa answers idly. She still doesn't look at Viola. "With the Gym and all."  
  
Viola's smile feels stretched and forced all of a sudden. She and her sister have never been all that close (though she wants to be, so desperately, all her friends as a child talked about how nice their sisters were and Alexa was always so distant...), but she'd hoped this was a friendly visit.  
  
Evidently not.  
  
"It's going well," Viola says politely. "Most of Father's Pokemon are still in grief, so we're only catering to no-badge Trainers at the moment. Anyone with higher qualifications have been asked to register on a wait-list."  
  
Alexa grunts. The Helioptile on her shoulder stares Viola down.  
  
Viola hates reptiles. They have these beady eyes that stare at you and they flick their tongue out in a creepy way that makes her skin crawl. Reptiles aren't even pleasant to look at, the way Bugs are.  
  
"Are you still using Bug Types?" Alexa asks idly. She finally deigns to spare her sister a glance.  
  
Viola blinks. "Of course."  
  
"...huh."   
  
Again, Viola blinks. "What?"  
  
But Alexa shakes her head with a bitter sort of smile. She scratches that creepy lizard under the ear, which elicits a creepier purring noise. Viola tries not to flinch at the sound of it—like rocks in a blender. "Nothing. Forget it."  
  
Viola takes a moment to look at her sister—really look at her. Viola herself has always been a bit of a sporty dresser, her wardrobe consisting of things that are fitting for hikes into the woods where she can get the perfect snapshot, but Alexa looks professional and formal, her face painted in a way that almost makes her look like a doll. They say beauty is emphasized in Lumiose, but Viola feels like she's just understanding that for the first time, or that she's just now realizing the vast differences between them. Alexa has always resembled their mother more (Goddess rest her soul), with her glossy brown locks and her sharp, angular features, her tapering brows and aquiline nose. Viola's jaw is square like their father's, and her blonde hair looks limp in comparison, easier to simply throw into a ponytail or just lob off entirely into a semi-formal bob rather than some intricate updo. Alexa has herself decked in carmines and reds of various shades, coupled with blacks and dark greys and other such stormy hues, all of which clash with Viola's chosen shades of mellow greens and guileless whites.  
  
Alexa is a mistress of the written word, can string along the right syntax and diction to make a persuasive masterpiece. Viola's talents have always lied in the visual, the ability to capture the perfect moment or visually calculate the movement patterns in a battle (a skill that she put to practice many times in her youth, gave her a fondness for battle and made her father consider her an heir in the first place). Alexa can write but she can't  _visualize_ , and vice versa with Viola.  
  
Viola hates reptiles, and yet Alexa has found one to be her companion. Alexa has never been overtly fond of Bugs, yet Viola considers them life-long companions.  
  
It occurs to Viola that, somewhere along the line, they have become direct opposites.  
  
"Well, I think I'm going to go now," Alexa announces. "I just came to check in—glad to see you're settling in and all."  
  
"Oh... Okay." Viola tries to mask her disappointment.  
  
Alexa nods once and then turns away. "Adieu, baby sis."  
  
"Bye," Viola mutters, but by then, Alexa is already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Dupuis sisters. I realized I'd yet to include Alexa's Helioptile, so, um, here?
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	13. day 13: break the ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 844**

**break the ice**  
_—to relieve tension or start a conversation with a stranger_

 

 

  
The rain comes down like a hail of silver bullets, a merciless hail against Tierno's umbrella. It's a big umbrella, one painted in rainbows and pastels, and it shields him well from the rain, but he still hurries down the cobblestone streets of Aquacorde the way that people do when it starts to rain.  
  
The weather channel never mentioned a sudden downpour, Tierno thinks sullenly. Yes, there was a high chance of rain and they sky was all grey and overcast, but he'd hoped the rain would wait until he was safely ensconced inside his school before it started pouring.  
  
He'd curse, but right now he's only eight years old and all his vocabulary of known curses consist of insults like "booger head", so nothing can properly express his frustration. Right now, all he can do is grumble irritably as he rushes down the streets, his shoes getting soaked from the inability to avoid puddles, and just tried to get to get to the school. Only one more block—  
  
Tierno catches a flash of something pink and slows. He's not particularly sure why he slows, but he does, and it isn't until he takes a second look that he realizes it's a girl—she has a backpack slung over once shoulder and is currently taking shelter under the awning of a nearby cafe. Her mocha hair pulled into a pair of girlish pigtails that drip rainwater all over her sopping pink dress and she glowers at the sheets of rain through sodden bangs. She'd absolutely drenched.  
  
"Hey," he calls. He's not sure why. He just does.  
  
The girl glances at him, her arms crossed over her chest and her little body was trembling. She blinks, not quite sure what to make of him.  
  
On a whim, he wanders over to her, and it isn't until he's up close that he realizes that her skin is oddly dark, a shade of caramel that belongs to foreigners and not Kalosian natives. She peers at him with minty eyes.  
  
"Hello," he says. "Um. Do you not have an umbrella?"  
  
She shakes her head. "I didn't know it was going to rain," she explains, revealing a foreign accent that sounds musical to his ears.  
  
He pauses, considering. This girl is obviously a foreigner and lots of people say foreigners are bad, but she's his age and she's caught in the rain without an umbrella and she doesn't look too scary. Plus, with her hair dripping and her bangs plastered to her forehead and her arms wrapped around herself, she looks almost pitiful.  
  
Tierno sighs. "Do you wanna share my umbrella?"  
  
The girl looks startled, but nods quickly. And then she is ducking under the umbrella and they are vying for shelter underneath the nylon rainbow top as they trot down the road.  
  
"It's really raining," Tierno remarks, simply because the booming pitter-patter of the rain was rather maddening. "Like, cats and dogs raining."  
  
She nods but says nothing.  
  
"I wonder where that express comes from," he says aloud, thoughtfully.  
  
He isn't expecting a response, but she blinks up at him and says, "It's from the old couple on Route One-Fifteen, the one with the tin roof."  
  
"Um. What do you mean?"  
  
She looks surprised. "It's this story I heard. You don't know it?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Oh, well, um. It's sorta—okay, so there's this couple who lives in a house on the Route. Their house has a tin roof, and there's a big chestnut tree in the backyard with the branches reaching over the roof. This Skitty and this Poochyena who lived nearby. The Poochyena was kind of chubby and the Skitty was worried, but the Poochyena thought he was fine. So one day, the Skitty tells the Poochyena to prove it, but climbing the tree and standing on the roof to see if it would bend. The Poochyena agreed, and so they both climb the tree and get on the roof. It doesn't bend, and the Poochyena is so happy that he does a little dance. The Skitty is frustrated and so she starts slamming her foot on the roof.  
  
"Now, the couple is underneath, and the roof is tin, and so all the noise sounds like it's raining really hard. It isn't until the two Pokemon slip and fall off that the couple realized what happened. And that's where the phrase comes from."  
  
"Huh." Tierno regards her for a moment. "I didn't know that."  
  
She starts fiddling with the damp ends of her pigtails. "Yeah. Um. Sorry for, uh, talking a lot."  
  
He laughs. "Hey. I'd rather you talk than say nothing." He pauses suddenly. "Hey, uh, where are going? I probably should have asked before..."  
  
"It's fine," she answers shyly. "Um, Aquacorde Elementary. It's my first day..."  
  
"I go there!" he says brightly. "I can show you around, if you like."  
  
"O-Okay."  
  
"I'm Tierno, by the way. I mean—it's not my real name, but it's what everybody calls me."  
  
A hint of a smile flashes across her face. "I'm Shauna."  
  
The rain continues to pour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say here.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	14. day 14: aware

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 223**

**aware**   
_—(Japanese) a transcendent awareness of the ephemeral nature of life_

 

 

 

Have you ever noticed how fragile life is, how quickly it slips away?  
How in mere moments  
something so beautiful, so utterly spectacular  
can fade?  
  
A sunset will go dark  
the stars will wink out  
a comet can streak the sky  
and then just vanishes  
  
five years can pass in the blink of an eye  
people change  
friendships rearrange  
sisters become strangers  
  
The world is trapped in an ever-changing turmoil  
beauty that chugs towards an endless entropy  
decaying  
fading  
dying  
  
So take a deep, deep breath  
savor the fragrant tang of summer on your tongue  
because someday it will melt into the crisp bite of autumn  
and from there become icy winter, sharp and sterile, and then the floral perfume of spring  
and then summer will come again, and a year will be gone  
  
Time passes  
Seasons change  
Day begets night begets day begets night  
An endless dance  
of which there is no rewinding  
or reversing  
  
So sit down  
Listen to your heartbeat  
savor the moment for a little while  
and simply exist  
live  
breathe  
  
Maybe your dreams will not see fruition, maybe people will fade and be left behind  
maybe you will lose things and gain things  
But right now, sit and feel the universe breathing around you  
revel in the cosmic heartbeat  
because it will not last  
  
but  
  
 _such is life_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I used a Japanese word for a prompt. I'm a weeb. Sue me.
> 
> Um. So.
> 
> After racking my head for several hours as to how to incorperate this into a prompt, I decided to try poetry? Because I've been dabbling with poetry a little and I wanted to experiment. It sorta reference CLV but is overall unrelated??? I dunno, man.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	15. day 15: hiraeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all, let me apologize for missing yesterday. I procrastinated until I realized how late it was and I wasn't able to finish before the day was up. So I'm going to be posting two today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 1050**

**hiraeth**  
_—(Welsh) a longing for a home you cannot return to_

 

 

 

"Have you ever wondered what our lives would be like if we hadn't moved to Vaniville?"

Calem glanced up from the book he was reading, about the Age of Myth and the Blooming. They were in the library, studying for an upcoming history test, and had sequestered themselves in a little table in the corner. Tierno was in a different class and had already finished his test—Trevor was studying from his home in Lumiose. So it was just the two of them, which, in and of itself, wasn't so unusual, but it was rather uncommon.

Shauna had an odd look in her eye, a sort of whistfulness, a thoughtfulness that gripped her with a ferocity he'd never seen in her before. She had her hand in her cheek and stared at him with a chilling intensity.

He arched a brow and leaned back in his seat. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean..." Shauna's gaze slid off to the side, her mouth twisting. "Do you ever wonder what might have happened if you stayed in Snowbelle? What your life would be like?"

"Someone's getting existential," he remarked jokingly.

She pouted irritably. "Never mind."

"No, hold on." He leaned forward, his palms falling flat on the sleek pages of his history textbook. "Where's this coming from, Shauna?"

"I dunno." She scratched her cheek absently, her lips still puckered in a pour. "I just. Wondered if you ever think about your life back in Snowbelle or something."

He shrugged. "Sometimes. Why?"

Shauna bit her lower lip. "I miss Hoenn," she admitted, her voice low as if it were something loathsome, some horrible secret to harbor. "Sometimes. Occasionally. I—I wonder might've happened if I, y'know..."

"And?"

She blinked. "And? And what?"

Calem arched a brow. "And, what's the big deal? Why should that bother you?"

"It. Doesn't. I just—"

"Okay," Calem said slowly. "So why bring it up?"

Shauna stared at him, her mouth slightly ajar, stunned. "Um. I was curious?"

He arched a brow suspiciously. "That's it?"

"Yeah. Not everything has a subconscious problem lingering behind it."

"Who are you and what have you done with Shauna Gabena?"

She kicked him under the table—lightly. "I'm serious."

"So am I," he said goodnaturedly. "What's going on, Shauna?"

"Well..." She hesitated for a moment, her eyes dark with an internal debate. "I was thinking of going back--to Hoenn I mean."

Calem's brain shorted out for approximately three seconds. Shauna—going back to Hoenn. Leaving Kalos forever. It didn't compute. "Come again?"

She seemed to realize where his train of thought was headed and raced to correct herself. "I mean, not permanently! There's this studying abroad program and I was thinking of signing up, 'cause the last time I was in Hoenn was for my uncle's funeral and I didn't really get to see anything—"

"So why are you telling me this?" Calem interrupted. "You could easily talk with Tierno about this. Hell, you should talk to Tierno. He'd be a big bawling mess if you left for a year."

Shauna's lip twitched into a smile she was clearly trying very hard to fight. "Yeah, he would, wouldn't he?"

"Oh, hell yeah."

"But Tierno was born here," Shauna went on. "He grew up here. He's never moved anywhere or anything. You're from the other side of the region and you go back there for, like, winter break and holidays and stuff, so—"

Ah, so that was it. Calem could understand, honestly. Unlike Tierno and Trevor, who have lived in the same city all their lives and never really changed pace, Calem and Shauna were outsiders. Granted, Trevor hopped between Lumiose and Aquacorde like the ultimate game of leap frog, but there was a difference between hopping and the transition into a new area. The eastern half of Kalos was notoriously conservative and starkly different from the west, and so even moving to the other side of the region had Calem in a bit of a culture shock, surprised by the ostentatiousness of even small towns like Vaniville and Aquacorde, who seemed as though they'd been built for beauty first and practicality second. There was also a slightly different dialect and a way of speaking there, and it had left Calem with a rather embarrassing accent that he had considered himself lucky to ditch. Shauna, meanwhile, came form another region entirely, with a culture that lacked any similarities with Kalos's and left her with no common ground to stand on. It wasn't quite the same, Calem knew, but he was the only one would could even partially understand her experience.

"Oh." Calem frowned at her. "Why didn't you just say that?"

The look she gave him made him want to laugh, but somehow, he restrained himself.

"Well, if you want my advice, Shauna, I'd say you shouldn't do it."

She blinked three times in rapid succession. "Wha—why not?"

He sighed and leaned into his chair. "Trust me, Shauna, if you go back to Hoenn, it's never going to be as good as you remember it."

"How'dya figure that?"

"Well, the reason it seems so great in the first place is because you idealize in your memory," Calem explained. "Like, every time I go back to Snowbelle, I realize how different it is from my memories of it. After a couple years, I started to realize... that I'd stopping fitting in there. Kinda like a puzzle piece that shrunk or got distorted or something. It stopped feeling like home."

"It...did?"

"Yeah, but that's because my home is here now," Calem said quickly, before she could get the wrong idea, because her face certainly said she was. "I mean, I'll always have my memories of Snowbelle, but going there in person has made them less... I dunno. I just associate myself as someone from Vaniville rather than someone form Snowbelle. I mean, do you still consider yourself Hoennian, or do you consider yourself Kalosian?"

Shauna looked taken aback by this. "I... Kalosian, I guess."

"Right. Where you come from will always be important, but it's the experiences you have that shape who you are."

"Wow." She looked mildly impressed. "Who knew Calem Lafayette could be so profound."

Calem rolled his eyes. "And this is why I don't talk to you people."

Shauna laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this one. Even though it took forever.


	16. day 16: limerence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 162**

**limerence**   
_—a feeling of infatuation, a crush_

 

 

  
She's really pretty—and strong, and fast, and totally, totally out of his league.  
  
Delphi sighed. It was silly, really, to obsess over a girl like Hayami. Yes, she was nice to him that one time, but that didn't mean she would give him the time of day. But she was also older and sophisticated and mature—if what Mint told him was any indication.  
  
And him? He was small and timid and pathetic. His Trainer regarded him with barely concealed skepticism. He was the runt of a litter of four, weedy and unassuming. She was the sort who gained admiration, who had bonded well enough with her Trainer.  
  
She was just being nice. He shouldn't focus so much on her.  
  
...on the other paw, she's also pretty and nice and he's never met anyone quite like her, an odd blend of kindness and discipline.  
  
Maybe next time they speak, he should try for confident. Cool and aloof. Would that impress her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is short, but yeah, Delphi has a slight crush on Hayami. I can't do a lot because they've barely had much interraction in-story, but I'll definitely capitalize it once I'm given more of an opportunity.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	17. day 17: turn a blind eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 410**

**turn a blind eye**   
_—to ignore something horrible or unpleasant_

 

 

  
"Your call is important to us," says the voice on the other end, automated and soulless, for the third time in the last ten minutes, "Please stay on the line."  
  
"I've been on the line for almost half an hour!" It takes all my self-control not to scream into the receiver, to keep my voice from breaking and sobs locked in my chest. To keep from throwing the phone against the wall and watching in morbid satisfaction as it shattered into a million pieces. "Take me off of hold and let me talk to a real person, god dammit!"  
  
The only response I get is a cheery tune, the kind you hear in elevators and is so mind-numbingly maddening that the urge to throw the phone only grows increasingly stronger.  
  
I let out a scream through my teeth. This is not happening. This is insane. Alexa's gone off the deep end and she's taken my title—Virgil is  _dead_ , oh my  _god_ , she  _killed my partner what the fuck_ —this is  _fucking insane_  there's no way this is real holy  _shit_  what is  _happening_ —  
  
And the League's put me on fucking hold.  
  
For the third time this week.  
  
The reports started the day after Alexa took the title. Hospitalizations, cremated corpses, whispers of the "Santalune Mantis". The video files of recorded battles started to become corrupted. Survivors claimed to see a "monster".  
  
I've been trying to contact the League for exactly ten days, and they've yet to do anything. They're supposed to start intervening the  _moment_  something like this happens. Not the day after, not nine days after, the day  _of_. It doesn't even have to be a member of the Elite Four or the Champion or anything, but  _someone_ —an official, another Gym leader, a fucking  _representative_.  
  
And yet, silence.  
  
"Your call length has exceeded the four-hour limit," chirps the automated voice, still cheery and bright. I envision the owner of the voice, and I envisioned myself punching them. "In order to save money on service, we are terminating this call. Please feel free to call again when we are less busy. Thank you!"  
  
"Dammit, no!" I scream, even as I hear the beep of the connection being cut. Snarling, I jam the end call button. I am tempted to squeeze the phone until it breaks, but I just sigh and stuff it in my pocket.  
  
It appears that the League isn't going to help me with this one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look, I actually posted on time today. Crazy.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	18. day 18: cold shoulder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 337**

**cold shoulder**   
_—to be reserved or distant_

 

 

  
"You have to socialize!" Shauna screamed.  
  
" _Make me_ ," Celestine hissed back venomously.  
  
The Hoennian had her arms snaring Celestine's waist and pulled with all the might in her deceptively small body, but Celestine had her fingers hooked in the doorjamb like claws and stubbornly refused to let go. It was amazing that Shauna had that much strength in her body, for the ability to even move a behemoth of a person like Celestine was a marvel in and of itself without taking into account how petite Shauna was. It must be a Hoennian thing, Celestine supposed. Something that made those people so inhumanly strong.  
  
Finally, though, Shauna's inhuman strength gave out and she released the Kantonian. Celestine took full advantage of her friend's exhaustion to bolt back into the safety of her temporary room. However, Shauna rammed her body against the door before Celestine could slam it shut.  
  
"Just leave me alone!"  
  
"You  _cannot_  go through life being antisocial," Shauna snapped.  
  
Celestine shot back a piercing glare. "Show where the fuck that's written down."  
  
"The handbook of the universe," Shauna shot back, because that always worked with Calem and Trevor.  
  
But Celestine was neither Calem nor Trevor, and she only rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you bring me that book and show me the passage, then I'll tolerate the presence of other human beings. Good day."  
  
And Celestine slammed the door in Shauna's face.  
  
Shauna stood there, blinking. Then the shock gave way to indignance. "You gotta come outta there eventually!"  
  
A sharp, mocking laugh sounded from the other side. "You severely underestimate my capacity for stubbornness, Gabena."  
  
Okay, stern obviously wasn't working. Would pleading work? "C'mon, Celestine, please? As a favor for a friend?"  
  
"We're not friends," Celestine retorted.  
  
Evidently not. Doom and gloom, maybe?  
  
"You're gonna rot in there," Shauna grumbled. "We're gonna shovel your corpse off the floorboards."  
  
A scoff. "Not likely."  
  
Shauna would inquire, but at this point, her capacity for exasperation had reached its limit.  _Y'know what? Forget it. I'll try again tomorrow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say here.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	19. day 19: atlas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 268**

**atlas**   
_—(literary) a figure who was forced to hold up the world_

 

 

  
Everyone always talks about the glory of heroism. The fame, the fortune, the dazzle of the spotlight and admiration and all that shit. But with that comes a burden, a crushing sort of thing that makes your skeleton creak under the weight as it struggles to maintain the upright position of a bipedial form.  
  
Celestine remembers what it was like to hold an entire world in her arms, blinking droplets from blood from her eyes as she whispered  _it's going to be okay, everything's fine, don't worry about me, nesan is going to be alright_.  
  
She still remembers the warm weight of another body against hers in a fierce embrace, the hot pinpricks of tears in her eyes. And then she remembered letting go, turning away, and having to hold her head high even though she felt like her heart was being ripped out.  
  
It got no easier from there.  
  
She still remembers death rattles and holding on tight, brushing hair out of eyes and whispering,  _it's okay, I'm here, I'm here with you, you don't have to be afraid_  as hearts gave out and lungs collapse and brain synapses ceased to fire. She still remembers closing unseeing eyes and weeping over empty shells that once housed the vibrant spark of life. She still remembers her vows, the words in the back of her throat spoken so readily, practically an instinct at this point, as second-nature as breathing.  
  
 _I won't let your death be in vain_ , she'd whispered as tears streaked her face and the world lost its focus.  
  
And goddammit, she was going to keep her promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying very hard to avoid spoilers.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	20. day 20: existentialism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 595**

**existentialism**  
_—a belief that all humans are born with an innate ability to choose and exercise freewill_

 

 

  
Some people believe in Fate. Some people believe that god is dead. Tyler believes otherwise.  
  
He can't say for certain that there is some force out there—some overseeing deity that watches on with a bittersweet pride, some creator that is both content and dissatisfied with how their creations have carved their paths—but Delphi likes to think there is, maybe. It's just that the creator sort of realizes that they shouldn't really interfere, that autonomy is the best course of action, that creations need to learn to shrug off the shackles of their beginnings and plunge into the unknown.  
  
Maybe it's idealistic to think like that. But Delphi likes to believe that it is because of this that things like justice exist, that goodness is diametrically opposed to badness, that there are two very opposites sides of the very same spectrum and that actions can fall onto every part of that spectrum. The reason life is so intricate is probably because there was a masterful designer way back when.  
  
One thing that designer forgot to add (or maybe purposefully neglected) was an inner design, an instruction manual or a navigation system. The creator in their graciousness left it up for the creations to decide their own path, to decide which part of the spectrum they would fall under.  
  
Tyler's master was a good man, a kind man. One who was dedicating his life to the abolishing of the language barrier, to tearing it apart brick by brick, word by word, symbol by symbol. He turned seemingly meaningless noises into a structured system, declensions and participles and symbols with psychological meaning attached to the sounds. Tyler admired him for that, saw this man as a true force of good in the world. Not because he'd been born that way, but because he'd chosen to be such.  
  
Tyler now observes his newfound "teammates" as they squabble amongst themselves. Ray is making rather offensive gestures, and Tyler has determined that his fellow Water-Type is plagued by an unfortunate mischievous streak, one that keeps Ray in the grayer areas of the spectrum. Tanner, brash and loud and impulsive Tanner—you'd think his attitude might get him into a fair amount of trouble, but he was actually quite compassionate underneath, mostly in relation to that chick he shielded with his wing at every chance he got, almost as though trying to separate harsh reality from innocence. Said chick was still too young to properly be judged, not yet choosing which spot on the spectrum to occupy. Tyler personally thought the same of Delphi, still too young and ill-informed to make a viable decision about his nature, but he seemed like a good kid.  
  
Tyler turns his attention over to his new Trainer, who is breaking up an argument between Tanner and Ray, various insults spilling from her lips as she articulates how irritated she is and how she must be cursed with the most restless team in the world. Now her, he can't quite peg down. She seems to have a sympathetic side, but it's hidden well, and sympathy does not necessarily translate to goodness, per se. Someone can be sympathetic as they watch a mugging, but if they don't intervene or act, then sympathy does not make the inaction redeemable. That in itself is a black mark, and sympathy can't make up for that.  
  
_We'll see_ , he thinks as the girl rakes a hand through her bangs—yes, "girl", because she, too, is a child in her own right, no matter how much she denies it.  _We'll see._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a big long character study.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	21. day 21: oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EXTREME APOLOGIES I WAS SO SLAMMED THIS WEEKEND SO HERE ARE THE TWO DAYS I MISSED.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 248**

**oblivion**  
_—the state of being unaware or not conscious of what is happening_

 

 

 

Not-yet-Tanner woke up with an ache in his wing and a throbbing in his head. The darkness behind his eyelids pulsed, and he groaned, trying to bring his wing up to shield his eyes, only for a stab of pain to jolt through his muscles and nerves.

"Slow down," came a voice from above. A featherlight weight brushed Not-yet-Tanner's back. "You were Poisoned. You just managed to pull through."

Not-yet-Tanner's brows furrowed. That chirping... wild tongue? Yeah, his father had taught it to him (though he was admittedly rusty). It was definitely birdlike, Pidgey-like. He wanted to open his eyes, but his body felt like lead all of a sudden, and he didn't think he could move even if he wanted to.

And what was this about being Poisoned? Sure, he'd tried to fight a Weedle (creepy thing), but they weren't Poison-Types, were they? Wasn't that until they evolved into those nasty Beedrill? He couldn't remember. His head was all...fuzzy-feeling.

"Your markings are different from any of the other Pidgey in the area," the voice went on, and Not-yet-Tanner decided it was probably male. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Not-yet-Tanner knew the words, he swore he did, but his thoughts were hazy and tired and his tongue wouldn't respond.

A sigh, a rustle of movement. A nest? "Too exhausted, by the looks of it. Now, you just rest then, you here? You need your strength."

Not-yet-Tanner thought to protest, but then he slipped back into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Tanner after being released into the wild.


	22. day 22: equilibrium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 677**

**equilibrium**  
—a state of physical balance

 

 

 

Not-yet-Tanner still remembered when the orange-suits swept through the forest like a storm of fire and terror, chaos and confusion left in their wake as families were torn to tatters and loved ones were stolen before his very eyes.

It was the strong ones, of course. The evolved ones. The ones who either bullied or stood up to the bullies, the ones with actual power. Not-yet-Tanner had hidden under a bush, watching with wide, fearful eyes as too-clean boots (definitely not the kind meant for hiking or traveling) stomped through the undergrowth, as gloved hands tore up dens and warrens and trapped his friends in Poke Balls. But he had no illusions. He wasn't strong. He never had been. His old owner had cast him aside for that very reason, and once he figured out the pattern, just as they were leaving, he emerged without fear, but rather with a solemn acceptance, knowing that he would never be a target worthy of their attention.

The bushes shuddered as they departed, almost in a mechanical, militarist fashion of marching, and, predictably, paid Not-yet-Tanner no mind.

He wasn't even surprised, but he was almost disappointed.

It was a day and a half after, and the Route was still recovering from the intrusion. The undergrowth was torn open in places and parents were long gone, leaving young Pokemon vulnerable to the attack of predators like foxes and wildcats, which would usually shy away from preying on their more powerful kin. Most inhabitants were too fearful, but Not-yet-Tanner, while not particularly smart, knew that they couldn't hunt him while he was in the trees. So he remained in the trees.

That afternoon, Not-yet-Tanner found himself taking stock of who had been taken. He knew that the responsibility would be thrown onto others like him, the remainders like him who were too weak to be acknowledged as valuable, so he might as well start. The biggest void was felt from the pair of Pidgeotto that used to act as leaders among the birds, the very pair that had discovered Tanner, weak and Poisoned, last spring.

It suddenly hit him that those Pidgeotto had a kid.

Not-yet-Tanner didn't bother berating himself for his terrible memory, filing it away for something to do later (though he never remembered, ironically), and immediately took wing. He couldn't recall for the life of him where the nest was, but the urgent chirping of a young bird gave him a pretty good idea.

He found a nest with only one little bird in it, still covered in beige down that would eventually give way to sleek flight feathers (but not yet) and screaming desperately, "Hungry! Hungry! Hungry!"

Not-yet-Tanner swooped over to a nearby bush, deftly plucked one off without even pausing (a rather impressive maneuver, if he did say so himself), and then veered back over to the nest. He landed, and dropped the berry next to the squawking chick.

The reaction was not as he expected.

"Stranger danger! Stranger danger!" The chick tried to peck at Not-yet-Tanner's foot, but he stopped the chick's approach with said foot. Chick was persistent, though, Not-yet-Tanner would give him that. "Stranger danger!"

"Shut up and eat," Not-yet-Tanner retorted.

The chick seemed to immediately forget apprehension in favor of food. As he chowed down, Tanner noticed how thin the poor thing was. Not having parents and not being able to fly would do that to you, he supposed, but still.

Not-yet-Tanner was not very strong, he would admit that. In his first forray into the wild, he'd almost died, and this chick's parents had to save him. Tanner had more than once recalled thinking how he owed them.

Now, their chick needed them, and they weren't there. Tanner was.

He wondered if a strong heart could make up for a weak body.

"And there's plenty more where that came from," Not-yet-Tanner said. "I'll be dropping by everyday to give you a little something. So don't go all shouty on me again, you here?"

The chick didn't respond, but Tanner knew he understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, Tanner was rescued by Max's parents.
> 
> And yes! Real animals exist alongside Pokemon in CLV-verse. They have their independent food chain and don't usually eat Pokemon (Pokemon usually eat them), but if they get desperate, predators will snap up young Pokemon.
> 
> EDIT:  
> So, my schedule ended up being really cluttered today, too. So I'll have two more for tomorrow.
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	23. day 23: alchemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I fell behind again. Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 178**

**alchemy**   
_—a seemingly magical process of transformation, creation, or combination_   


 

 

 

They say evolution is a spectacular process.

And they are right.

It's the sensation of every cell in your body singing with liquid light, the sensation of becoming  _more_. Hayami welcomes it, lets it thrill every corner of her being. She feels her limbs stretch and grow, feels her body become leaner and lither, her coloration deepening.

When it stops, Hayami is grinning. And so is her Trainer.

"Oh my god." Calem's smile is blinding. He jogs over, Alistair on his shoulder. "Oh my  _god_!"

She leaps into his arms, and he hugs her, and he is laughing and whooping with joy. It is infectious, this energy. Hayami feels invincible.

"He was more excited when I evolved," Alistair whispers, because the bird has to be the best at every damned thing.

She sticks her tongue out. "Shut up."

"But no seriously," he says loud with a mischievous glint in his eye, "congrats. It's about damn time I stopped pulling your weight."

"You dare!" she gasped.

Calem sighs as they squabble, but he's still grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look! A Hayami chapter!


	24. day 24: gold dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 188**

**gold dust** _  
—fine particles of gold _

 

 

 

"What is on your face."

"It's body glitter," Shauna retorts. Her face is sprinkled with golden glitter, particularly heavy on her lashes, lids, and like a thick mask around her eyes. It matches the thick golden collar around her neck, glittering with cheap plastic jewels. She rolls her eyes. "Don't look at me like that, Trevs—it's Halloween. And I'm Cleopatra."

Trevor takes in her long white, Egyptian-style dress. He blinks, staring blankly. "Why is this a thing?"

"Halloween?" Shauna frowns. "I thought it was a Kalosian thing. I wanted to give it a try this year."

"It's a stupid tradition," Trevor retorts. "It dates back to the archaic days when people were so afraid of mythical gods that they invented holidays to give themselves hope."

Shauna tilts her head to the side. Her black bob tilts, too, and her eyes are lines with black kohl. "What's wrong with that?"

"The whole basis of the system is a false association," Trevor retorts.

Shauna smirks. Her lips are painted gold. "You won't think that when you see Cal dressed as a vampire. Won't that be funny?"

"...maybe," Trevor relents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Halloween stuff.


	25. day 25: aurora borealis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god what is it with me and being behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 809**

**aurora borealis**  
_—the Northern Lights, a magnetic phenomenon that occurs within the arctic circle_

 

 

 

Snowbelle is a hibernal city, with snow that lingers on the ground in thick blankets until late spring, with diamond dust and frost that starts in early autumn, and blizzards that rage all throughout the winter. It's borders are walls of pines and fir, hardy species that can survive the uneven, jagged crests of the mountains, steeps and packed with white coldness. Calem remembers the years he spent constructing snow-forts and snowmen and a great castle out of wet packing snow, the icy snowball fights he waged in the dead of winter with his cousin, listening to her cackle like a witch as she lobbed her projectiles at his defensive wall. He remembers his Mere taking his scarf and winding it around him so tight it felt like a noose, how she forced him to bundle up in far too many layers.

As he sits upon the snowy hill with a thermos of hot chocolate in his lap, warming his hands through his mittens, he decided that nothing compares to the windchill of a winter night in Snowbelle. It is beautiful, though, he thinks as he stares out at the city from his vantage point, the whole city comely and delightful, houses lit and smoke billowing from chimneys, so that it all looks like the quaint little town featured in Christmas decorations or in  _Starry Night_. The sky is crystal and liquid, the galaxy glittering against the black canvas, and the full moon shining like a polished platinum coin.

"Hey!" Serena squeals. She is next to him, her hair braided on one side, and she shifts onto her knees to point at the sky. "I think I see the Fraxure constellation!"

Calem squints. They all just look like stars to him. He doesn't see anything that looks like a Fraxure. "Think you're losin' it, Rena."

His seven-year-old cousin huffs and whacks his shoulder, but his coat is so thick he doesn't even feel it. "You're blind."

"Now, now," intervenes their grandfather and chaperone. He is a mountain of a man, tall and built like a glacier, with winter-white hair that holds no testimony to his true age. Yes, he is old, but you would have never guessed from the way he laughs so hard it reverberated through his entire skeleton, and how the sound can fill the mountain range. "Don't you two start fighting."

Oddly enough, Serena backs down. "Fine. I don't wanna miss this a—au... what'dya call it again, grand-pere?"

"Aurora borealis," their grandfather enunciates. His Snowbelle accent is thick around the words. "The one in Icirrus is called the 'aurora australis' because its south of here."

"But they're the same, right?" Calem pipes. "It's not like one of them is, like, orange, and the other is purple?"

Their grandfather shakes his head. "No, dear boy. They're the same color."

"I thought so."

"Know-it-all," Serena mutters, which Calem thinks is silly because she is a far more of a know-it-all than he is. She reads dictionaries just to show off how many words she knows and always brags about her better grades. But she also doles out these really nasty noogies, so he buttons his lip.

"Oh!" their grandfather exclaims. He leans over with an eagerness that is definitely not old at all. "Look! It's starting!"

And indeed, it was. The colors starting to flicker over the horizon, and before Calem's very eyes, a dancing ribbon of iridescence unfurls like a pair of great wings. He watches, his mouth agape, as the colors pirouette through the sky, the darkness only serving to further highlight the glow.

"Wow," he breathes, his breathe frosting in front of him.

A sob comes from his side. He turns and is surprised to see Serena crying.

His eyes widen. "Rena?"

Their grandfather touches her shoulder in concern. "Serena, mon chaton? What is it?"

Serena sniffles and rubs away tears and snot with her mitten. "T-This is t-the only time we're ever gonna s-see this."

 "What're you talking about?" The aurora happens all the time in winter. This is just the first time they've all seen it together, particularly on this hill.

Serena turns to him sharply, her eyes narrowed and blurry with tears. "Y-You're gonna move a-and I'm never gonna s-see you again—"

"Whoa!" Calem gawks. "You're gonna see me again!"

But she shakes her head. "No I'm not! You're g-goin' all the way to the other side of the region!"

"But I'll visit in the summer!" Calem exclaims. "And I'll call you all the time on video chat and stuff!"

"P-Promise?"

"Of course!" Calem catches the rhythmic swirl of the aurora in his peripheral and bites his lip. "I know it's totally lame 'cause you're my cousin, but you're, like, my best friend, y'know?"

Serena sniffs and gives a watery smile. "That _is_ pretty lame."

The aurora continues to dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really loved writing this one.
> 
> Also, when the grandfather calls Serena "mon chaton", it means "my kitten". It's an affectionate French petname, you see.


	26. day 26: scorpio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I AM FINALLY CAUGHT UP OH MY GOD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 222**

**scorpio**  
_—the constellation of the Scorpion, representing passion and vengeance; dates Oct 23-Nov 21_

 

 

 

"Did you know your zodiac sign is Scorpio?" Shauna asks, peering up from an astrology magazine.

Celestine side-eyes her. "How is this relevant?"

"I just think it's fitting."

Celestine heaves something that is half-sigh, half-groan, and presses pause on the TV program. She swings her head around, draping on arm over the back of the couch, and narrows her eyes at Shauna, who is sitting at the kitchen counter. "Okay, why."

"'Scorpio women are secretive, sexy, magnetic, but they also appear aloof and calm'," Shauna reads. "'Scorpio is a Water sign and lives to experience and express emotions. Although emotions are very important for Scorpio, they manifest them differently than other water signs. In any case, you can be sure that the Scorpio will keep your secrets, whatever they may be.' That totally sounds like you!"

"Astrology has no scientific basis," Celestine drawls.

"Oh my god." Shauna sets the magazine down with a huff. "You have to meet my friend Trevor. You two would get along  _so_  well."

"Okay?"

"And probably Calem," she goes on. "Though, he's a Leo and that's a fire sign, so you might  _not_  get along? Maybe?"

Celestine rolls her eyes. "Yeah... I'm gonna go back to watching TV, okay?"

"I'm a Scorpio too, by the way," Shauna says.

Celestine turns back to the TV and unpauses it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarification, Celestine and Shauna are both Scorpios because Celestine was born in late October and Shauna was born in early November. And yes, Calem is a Leo because he was born in late July.
> 
> This is the cite where I got the Scorpio info from: http://www.astrology-zodiac-signs.com/zodiac-signs/scorpio/
> 
> See you tomorrow!  
> Luna


	27. day 27: mysticism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...i am behind again what the hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 1,108**

**mysticism**  
_—belief characterized by self-deluded or dreamy confusion of thought_

 

 

 

You delight in your sister's screams.

It sounds cruel, but it sends a morbid thrill down your spine to see her beloved Vivillion flattened beneath the pincer of your new Scizor—who is an absolute  _beast_  and obeys your every command without protest or hesitation. Maybe it is the despair in your sister's eyes as her knees buckle and she collapses, as though some massive flyswatter has knocked her on her ass, and you savor it. Little miss perfect isn't looking so perfect anymore.

You have never been a battler. It was one of your many shortcomings growing up, one of the many things that had your father instead turning his gaze approval onto your blonde little sister. You were a creator, one who could weave together sentences with skillful mastery, turn simple phrases into stories and give words brand new meetings. But your father was never interested in that. He was more interested in your sister's ability to capture, to notice finer details, to pick up on weaknesses in an opponent's movements, little finite things that allowed her to systematically destroy.

You do not have to photographic mind, her ability to pick up visual details and reason out spaces and angles and all that shit. But you don't need it. You have power now—raw, animalistic power. Where she is delicate and coy in technique, you are rough and brutish, blunt and crude. Your new Scizor—a gift, along with a lovely choker that allows you to fully utilize this beast—completely  _annihilates_ , smashes your sister's pedigree butterfly to fucking pieces, and you savor every minute of it.

There was once a part of you that didn't quite hate Viola so much, you think as her body trembles with pressurized sobs, which she is clearly holding back by slapping her hand over her mouth, making her look like she was going to vomit. This part of you tired and lonely and was willing to set aside the jealousy that made you sick at the very sight of her, if only for a moment, back when you were young and didn't quite understand the depths of your father's favoritism. This part of you is pathetic, really, but it stubbornly stayed with you, made you feel guilty whenever you lashed out (even though she clearly fucking deserved it) or had you swallowing your bitterness back into yourself, where it calcified and accumulated until it weighed in your gut until it threatened to tear you apart from the inside out.

But now, as you sit back and wait for that piece of you to resurface and ruin your good mood, you are pleasantly surprised to find it, oddly, missing.

Huh.

You can't say this disappoints you.

Your sister looks up at you, tears streaking her face, and you revel in the sight of her weakness far more than you know you should. "Why?" she chokes.

You should tell her. It will be satisfying to finally get it out, to unleash that weight you've been lugging around for years. And you've been waiting so long to say something.

But—a thought occurs to you. Would it not be more deliciously cruel to say nothing? To let her wallow in her own disbelief and uncertainty?

Your Scizor glances at you with pitiless blue eyes, and you decide to be cruel. You send her away without an explanation.

You grow increasingly restless in your position. The only challengers you get are weaklings after their first badge (your sister was a notorious pushover when it came to beginners), and you do not hesitate to rip their Pokemon apart. The first time, it stunned you—the child's reaction was extreme and you thought you felt a flicker of guilt. This wasn't your sister. The kid didn't deserve—

The kid was weak, though. Their Pokemon was weak. If you weren't strong, you shouldn't play the game. It was that simple. And the pity went away.

After a while, though, the bloody tearing of Pokemon bodies stopped stating you, became gradually less satisfying.  _Why should the Pokemon suffer because their Trainer is weak?_  you wonder. _Is that truly fair?_

So instead, you set your sights on the Trainers as well. The Pokemon foolishly try to shield their masters, and while the collateral damage does not please you, it does not dissatisfy you either, and you delight in the screams your challengers as they behold the bloodied corpses of their comrades who sacrificed themselves willingly. Sometimes even your sister shows up to try to reason with you, and you get to enjoy her reaction all over again

You can't decide if it is because you are getting stronger or because they are getting weaker, but after three weeks, after the whispers of "Santalune Mantis" start flying, injuring challengers isn't enough anymore. Not even your sister's reaction is delightful enough anymore. You start wanting  _more_.

You are given a Heracross and a Pinsir, new toys to play with, by the woman in orange ("Use them wisely," she said, copper lips curling). You enjoy them immensely, and they provide far more crushing power, the three of them.

It is a crying shame your father can't see how strong you have become.

"You never cared for me, did you?" you ask his portrait. You've slashes the face diagonally, gouged out the eyes and carved a false smile out of ripped paper. He only stares back, blinking his ripped eyes, and eyes you with the same disapproval, even though you are so much  _better_ now, why can't he  _see_?

His smile twists, and his head tilts, and he looks away as though he can't bear the sight of you. 

You snort. It is true that you have been neglecting to eat and have grown thin, but you simply lack hunger. Battle is your sustenance now, and blood your water. You are destruction incarnate, and he can't bear to look at your raw glory. "Coward."

Your next victim is some fucker named Rinka. She leads with a Fletchling. You destroy it. It is so mundane, your strength. You should take it to the next level, maybe. Storm the League, march up to Diantha fucking Legrand and—

And you've had enough of your sister, you decide when she shows up again. You're bored of her. Fine. You'll just kill her. Quick and easy.

"GYM LEADER ALEXA!"

You were fearful of an Aesith intruding, of course, but you'd always thought it'd be that blonde pest with the rollerskates, not a dark-haired girl with a funny accent.

Fine. You'll crush her, too. Because you are destruction incarnate, and even an invulnerable being cannot stand against you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed getting into Alexa's head so much that I ended up being really perfectionist with this, apologies.
> 
> But basically, I wanted to show that Alexa had been harboring these feelings of jealousy for a very long time and Transcendence gave her an outlet, while also messing with her mental health.


	28. day 28: smoke and mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 638**

**smoke and mirrors**   
_—the obscuring or embellishment of the truth_

 

 

 

His leads were turning up dead ends.

Calem sighed heavily, logging off from the one of communal computers at Sycomore's lab, the second level which is both a research area and a library, one that freely welcomes Trainers of all walks of life. Sycomore is a very inclusive like that, likes to let people come in and go out as they please, tries to be very open and uninhibited about his work (except for the fact that the third and fourth floors are strictly off-limits). But that wasn't the point. The communal computer lab is state-of-the art, with shelves of books lining the walls so it sort of doubles as a library and rows and rows of top-of-the-line computers, the type that should easily be able to access any site, be able to turn up some scrap of information.

And yet, nothing.

Growling in frustration, Calem stood, running a hand roughly over his face. Two weeks, and he was nowhere closer to where he'd started. The League's site was next to useless, and most of the information he could find on Alexa was irrelevant scraps—birthdate, occupation, a few achievements during her high school years. But nothing on the battling scene, no mention of her relationship to her sister or her father. Hell, if Calem hadn't known she and Viola were related, he'd never have guessed she was a member of the Dupuis line.

He supposed there was something rather pathetic about that, something that almost sort of explained it.

"The research isn't going well, I take it?"

Calem glanced over his shoulder. Dexio, the sleek blonde assistant— _head_  assistant—who practically manages the lab while Sycomore does his secret business, away from prying eyes, while Dexio becomes the face that greets everyone politely and cordially—he stands at the doorway with his arms crossed behind back. Calem has nothing against Dexio, but the guy's perpetual smile, practically frozen on his face, can get a little unnerving. It didn't help that he was constantly trailed by his Espeon, Aristide, who was rumored to read the minds of the assistants in order to weed out the lazy workers. Calem can feel the Psychic's eyes boring into him from the floor, and he tries to ignore it.

"It's like Alexa's purposefully erased her trail," Calem growled. "I just... it's on such a massive scale though! How does someone do something like that?"

Dexio hummed as he approached. Aristide trailed faithfully after him, as always, silent, tail swaying like a metronome. "That does sound awfully systematic," the blonde remarked, coming to a stop, his blue eyes thoughtful, "for someone who is apparently so sadistic and unorganized in thought."

"My thoughts exactly." Calem pinched the bridge of his nose. "The explanation I can think of is that someone is covering this up on her behalf."

"So we have an old-fashioned government conspiracy theory on our hands, hm?" It was hard not to think of Dexio as creepy when he sounded so pleasant, talking about conspiracy theories and shit.

Calem snorted. "I never said it was the government. But it's definitely someone."

Aristide leaped up onto the chair and places his front paws on the desk, sniffing at the keyboard. "Any idea who is?"

"Trevor mentioned something about a... 'Lazarus QT'?" The Trainer shook his head. "I have no idea what that is, and I'm not good with computers the way Trevor is..."

Dexio hummed again, eyes thoughtful. "I'm sure the Professeur and I can have someone look into Alexa and the cover-up. You, meanwhile, should check with your League contacts. I assume you haven't done so?"

Calem winced.

"Procrastination is not a virtue, M. Lafayette."

"Fuck you." Calem started past him. "Fine. Double your workload. I'm going to go talk to Lumiose's Gym Leader right now."

Neither Dexio nor his Espeon responded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey, it's Dexio.


	29. day 29: tempting fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm finishing this up now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 659**

**tempting fate**  
_—to do something dangerous without regard for a negative outcome_

 

 

 

"You're losing too much money, Vi."

I knew that. Of course I knew that. At the end of every quarter, I have to tally up my expenses, and every time, we remain in the red, hovering just above bankruptcy, walking a tightrope that hangs high, high over the world without a safety net to catch us if we fall. It is a terrifying reality, not just because of the threat of the Gym being closed down, the League sending me angry letters scrawled in red ink that reminds me of the vast debt my institution is accumulating with each loss, but because it's not just  _me_  on the tightrope. I'm the Gym Leader. I have people counting on me. My employees, my attendants, my Gym Trainers. They all rely on me to keep this Gym running.

"It's not my fault I haven't been able to go all-out recently, Alexa."

Do I go easy on beginners? Yes. Because they don't need the added stress of Reaper Battles and bloody Pokémon, irreparable wounds and permanent scars. Those come later. Right now, kids are still kids, and I am not going to be the one to destroy their innocence, to pile up expectations on their shoulders like Father did. I never... got a normal childhood, admittedly. I became a battler at a young age, younger than any of my challengers, but I never indulged in the sort of lifestyle that most teenagers take for granted.

"You could take the challenges more seriously!  _Dad_  would've."

Yes, he would have. Father was a severe, commanding sort of person, who demanded nothing but the best from every person—but. But his idea of "best" wasn't everyone else's idea of best. So when someone gave him a "best" that did not meet his standards, he was mercilessly cruel, expecting you to rise higher and higher and not caring if you fell into the mud before his feet. He was infamous as the "Noob Crusher", because he was particularly brutal on beginners who were still dipping their toe in the water and weren't braced for the plunge that battling him required.

"I'm not Dad."

And I don't want to be. Father expected everyone to be a protege, to battle with all the grace and finesse of a master, and had no tolerance for fumbling and making mistakes. I want to  _build_ beginners up instead of knocking them down. That's why I've been going lighter on beginners, and yes, maybe that's earned me a reputation of a push-over and maybe it has drainer our funds, but it is  _worth_  it to see the pride on a newbie's face as they hold up that polished badge, as they and their Pokemon celebrate the win.

"You need to do something about this, Vi—or I will."

Alexa was never close to Father, but she idealized him far more than need be. It was times like this that I wondered at how well she knew him when he was alive, how many of his flaws she bothered to acknowledge. Or maybe he was set on a pedestal so high under a spotlight so bright that all those flaws were washed out.

"Like what? Take my title?"

She had no right to barge in here like this. Yes, it was a family legacy, but the legacy was my burden to bear now. My sister was free to pursue her dreams of becoming the editor of her own paper, a powerful business woman with the written word at her fingertips. I was the battler, the one awash with mud and grime, the weight of the camera that hung around my neck growing foreign with disuse, too preoccupied with my legacy to pursue my true passions. Day in and day out, I was trapped by duty and finances and tedious battling, while at the end of day she could smile, exhausted but triumphant, high on the joy of following her heart.

"...maybe I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viola, what are you doing?
> 
> In all seriousness, though, I tried a new style. What do you think?


	30. day 30: fire and brimstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am FINISHING this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 1,115**

**fire and brimstone**   
_—the wrath of God_

 

 

 

There is no manual for being a father. You've often considered writing one, in order benefit future generations of fathers who are struggling with their own balance of issues, but that would just be another obnoxious parenting book to add to the pile of drivel currently clogging up the libraries, so maybe not.

The thing is—it's the sort of job that only gets harder. When they're young, kids tend to adore you, they see their parents as faultless and love them in a seemingly unconditional fashion. You are not faultless, and you acknowledge this. You never had a father growing up, so you don't have anything to fall back on when you tread upon uncharted territory (like sexuality, dating, moving, etc). But somehow, Calem, at eight years old, still looked at you as though you were a hero of some kind, as though kings knelt before you and oceans parted at your command. It is undeserved, but you are not one to complain about something so precious.

Your wife and you weren't the perfect couple. You were flawed from the start and you honestly weren't surprised when the marriage fell apart. But you had a few years together, loved deeply enough that the memory of happiness—true contentedness—with another person will remain with you for the rest of her life. Your only real regret in the matter is how the icky process of divorce left a mark on your son.

You love him, and are rather rueful to have put him through so much turmoil during his early childhood. A divorce, a move—those are some of the most traumatic things young children can go through. And as much as you regret it, you know you can't exactly go back and change it.

But things have started to change—a bigger change than the divorce or the move, or your new job, or when you met Evalynn, or when your son came out as bisexual.

Because now he is insisting on going on a Journey, become a Trainer.

Not, let's get this straight: you know your reputation has left a crushing legacy, and you've always tried to impress upon Calem that he doesn't need to follow your path, if doesn't feel comfortable. In fact, you'd rather prefer he didn't. Improvements were made, massive improvements, before Legrand took the stage and halted all progress that might have been made. Since the Legrand administration, that progress was left to collect dust, things that required maintenance left to rot and fall apart. It's simply not as safe as it should be, and you've seen the wildness of the Routes for yourself, so you know the dark dangers that linger in shadows you'd never have expected to exist.

But the biggest reason is because he isn't telling you why. He suddenly bristles around you when he thinks you are not paying attention, has become invasive and secretive, reluctant to speak with you, and sometimes outright avoids you, claiming to be busy with school or training (two things that have bonded you both deeply in the past). You are not used to there being secrets like this between you, and as a parent, you expect the worst.

So yes, you get restrictive. You start pestering more about where he goes and then doesn't call you (you try not to think about drugs, because he displays no symptoms of addiction or being a peddler). You start trying to talk him out of this plan, and upon realizing you can't (Calem's inherited the combined stubbornness of you and your ex-wife), try your best to prepare him for the dangers he'll be facing, even if he seems intent on ignoring everything you say.

You wonder where the child that used to admire you so unconditionally.

One day, you come home to find Evalynn explaining that Calem already left and he  _didn't tell you_ —

You immediately dial his Caster, but it doesn't go through. You try again and again and the process takes hours. By the time it's night, you are beside yourself. For the first time in a very long while, a primal, deep-seated fear infects you. You blood goes cold and your hands numb and every time the call goes to voicemail, you burst into fits of restless pacing. Evalynne tries to calm you down, insists that he's probably fine, that he's likely made it to the rest stop on Route Two, but that doesn't console you. The wild is a treacherous place, something you learned from personal experience (you have a massive, angry red scar on your torso that looks like a pair of puckered lips, which can attest to your hardship), and you, as a parent, are inclined to fear the worst. By the time nightfall comes, you are bristling with panic, images of death and monsters flitting through your head.

Then the call finally comes through and you would have wept with relief at the sight of your son's face if he did not look so blatantly annoyed.

"What," he deadpans.

A surge of anger goes through you. "You have a lot of nerve, young man!"

He rolls his eyes. Goddess, you are not meant to be a father to a moody teenager. This is going to kill you. "Please, Pere, I don't need a lecture right now. Today was stressful enough—"

You interrupt with an incredulous scoff. He's not even  _sorry_. "Oh,  _you_  were stressed. My goodness, I had  _no idea_! I suppose I probably shouldn't add to your stress by bringing up the fact that I was  _worried sick_  about you for the  _latter half of the day_. Goodness gracious! Wouldn't want to stress you out further!"

Calem's eyes narrow, and you know before he even speaks that he's going to get defensive. "Evalynne told you I left, right?"

"Yes, but that's not the point." Your blood is boiling. You can't believe his nerve. "For all I knew, you could have been dead in a ditch somewhere!"

Calem blinks, and for a moment, you think he looks remorseful. "Okay, I think you're overreacting a bit—"

"Overreacting?  _Overreacting_? I was ready to call nine-one-one! Do have any idea how scared I was?!" Your vision is stained with red. "And even worse, I hear about it from Evalynn,  _hours_  after you'd left? That is too far, young man! You are  _grounded_ , do you hear me?! Grounded!"

"You don't have that authority over me," he retorts, his voice dangerously low. "I'm not in your house anymore."

It deteriorates from there, and when he hangs up abruptly, you are ready to burst a blood vessel.

What happened to that little kid who thought you were a hero?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final one will be up tomorrow


	31. day 31: juvenescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finally finished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Word Count: 3979**

**juvenescence**  
_—the state or period of being young_

 

 

 

Celestine swiped the back of her hand over her sweaty forehead as she admired her work. The logs were arranged in a pyre-like pyramid, a framework of wood that housed kindling of all kinds—dead grass and twigs and dried leaves, and even some lighter fluid she’d sprayed it with. She patted the canister on her hip, making sure she’d secured it properly and there wasn’t ignition fuel leaking onto her jeans, before she turned to her starter with a smile.

“Think Sensei’ll be proud?”

Her Charmander loped over on all fours, ignited tail swaying warily, and gave her construction a cautious sniff. When he glanced up at her, his expression was dubious.

“Somehow, I doubt Midori-san will be pleased you cheated and used lighter fluid,” he remarked flatly.

His Trainer pouted in an exaggerated fashion—puffed cheeks and protruding lower lip and slightly furrowed brows. It was a childish expression that, at the age of ten, she could almost pull off, but soon she would be too old for it to have the proper effect.

Draco just blinked slowly, not the least bit moved. Even when she was nine, he had not been moved, and with her window of tolerance for childish acts closing as she grew older and was expected to act more and more mature, it was likely she would never be able to move him.

“Well, Maman said they do it all the time in Sinnoh,” Celestine huffed, looking back to her fire-construction.

Draco stood on his hunches and eyed her quizzically. “I thought that was because the snow made the wood damp.”

“Yeah, but what about if it rains?” Celestine shot back. “Then it’s cold and wet and I gotta stay warm _somehow_.”

“I could keep you warm,” Draco offered.

The remark caused her defensiveness to soften and give way to a warm glow, one of gladness and appreciation—it was one of those moments that had her realizing just how lucky she was to have Draco with her. Her lip curled into an almost-smile, and she let out a small, amused chuckle, mostly amused at him for the offer and a little at herself for almost considering it, as she bent down to pick him up. It was easier now that she was bigger and stronger, now that she could lift him without trouble and didn’t have to worry about stepping on his tail.

“Arigato, Draco,” she said, and genuinely meant it, “but you’re too little! You wouldn’t be able to warm me up all that much.”

Draco sniffed prissily and nuzzled against the crook of her elbow. “Just wait ‘till I get bigger, then,” he mumbled into her skin, his breath hot.

Celectine giggled loudly, a sweet, chiming sound, like the bells at the shrine. “Yeah! Once you’re a Charizard, you’ll be able to keep me warm all the time.”

“And I’ll be a badass.”

“And you’ll be a badass,” she agreed warmly.

They stayed like that for a moment, Celestine just standing there and Draco just curled in her arms. Finally, though, she seemed to realize that her Sensei wouldn’t be arriving until after the allotted time was up (half an hour to make a fire! Really! Celestine was finished in less than fifteen minutes!), and decided she really didn’t want her legs to go numb by then from standing in place like an idiot. With a small sigh, the young Trainer eased herself onto the ground, crossing her legs and setting Draco down on her lap. She was wearing shorts and the weather was a bit nippy, so his warmth radiated through her in a most wonderful way. He gave her a look of mock-irritation at being used as a heating pad, one that made her giggle, before he huffed and curled up in a ball. Smiling as his grumpiness, Celestine ran her hand down his spine, his scales smooth and glass-like beneath her fingertips.

A few moments passed, filled with the sort of noisy silence you could only find in the city—the honking of cars and bustle of people striding down sidewalks, chatter that drifted in from downtown, penetrating the high brick walls that enclosed the backyard—the backyard of Sensei’s personal institute, that is. In other words, this big building Sensei’d rented and turned into a facility for molding the young minds of Trainer hopefuls like Celestine herself. People from all corners of Viridian City with an interest in Pokémon training flocked to this school to hear from Ayogai Midori, one of the self-proclaimed best Trainers in all of Tohjo. She offered personal experience and advice that most teachers at the local school didn’t, and even the headmaster of that institution agreed that most students should attend at least one course at the famous Trainer School. Others, though, called it the “Battle House”, because most of the learning was hands on. Plus, it was a lot less formal than a school, and a lot less expensive to attend. The first three lessons were free, and attending more classes only cost a small stipend that even the less affluent families could afford.

Nonetheless, the city noise was the only way to deduce that you were, in fact, still within the perimeter Viridian City. The Battle House’s backyard was, like most in Viridian, practically a drop of authentic wilderness in and of itself. Tall trees reached for the sky and the grass grew thick and uncut. Bushes sprang around the perimeter, lining a few flowerbeds that served as evidence to when students had tried to beautify the area. Bright green shoots of young tulips were poking their heads out of the dark earth, unfurling to taste the coming of spring, and the bushes watched over them like expectant mothers. Ivy blanketed one side of the building, as it did with many, as though nature was trying to take back the land that had been invaded by grey buildings of stone and steel. The inhabitants were too eco-friendly to care, however, and instead tended to the ivy, cutting and pruning and watering. There was even an annual contest among major institutions (businesses, schools, churches, etc) to judge which ivy vine was best managed—healthiest, thickest vine, but not so healthy that it had been allowed to take over the building like a kudzu plant. Kudzu was weeded out almost immediately and replanted in one of the city’s many greenhouses.

Celestine took a moment to just breathe it in, the wildness and the city blending in one breath. This was home. This was her life. This was her everything.

But it wouldn’t always be.

The thought was a sobering one. It made Celestine’s chest tighten, and she took stock of her surroundings again—this time, when she looked at it, she found little details like how the dogwood was starting to flower, buds dotting the branches, and how the hornbeam tree was leaning ever so slightly against the wall, like it needed support to stand. It was with the wonder of someone seeing this all for the first time that Celestine realized, with a sharp pang, how much she was going to miss this when, one day, she would kiss Viridian goodbye and leave it far behind her with each step further into the unknown.

“Y’know, in two years, I’m going to get my traveling permit,” Celestine heard herself say aloud, though it came out a lot softer than she’d intended. Not that she’d intended to talk aloud, of course. She just did that, when she was alone and there was no one to listen but Draco. Draco never responded when she spoke her thoughts aloud in the absent way, as though she were somewhere else a million miles off, but he listened. He was always listening, because he was always there. Even when he was pretending to be asleep, like he was now, he was there for her, listening—her partner, her starter, her eternal companion.

He grunted softly, just to show that he was still awake.

“You and I are going to travel,” she kept going. She tucked her legs in a little closer, careful not to disturb Draco, and stared at the pyre she’d crafted. It looked ceremonial, almost, like something you saw at the shrines. It sent a little spark of pride through her. She would do well in the wild, she thought. She could conquer the wild, and then the world. “We’re going to go all around the region, visit every city in Kanto—heck, Johto too! We’re gonna, we’re gonna scale Mt. Silver and, and beat all the Gym Leaders, and the Elite Four, too!”

“We’ll be Champions,” Draco agreed idly. He sounded half-asleep. Celestine wondered if he was really dozing, or if he was just faking in to make her feel like she had more privacy.

She huffed lightly, but chose not to call him out on it. “Yeah. Champions. The best there ever was. Champion Ethan won’t know what hit him!”

“I hope so,” drifted a voice from behind her, smooth and silvery. “That asshole has had the throne for way too long.”

Celestine jumped a little and glanced over her shoulder, then flushed when she realized who it was that had spoken. “M-Midori-Sensei! G-Gomen, I didn’t know you were—”

“Listening?” Sensei teased. She was an older woman, somewhere in her late thirties or early forties, with dark brunette hair in a loose ponytail and caramel brown eyes that were far too wise for her age. Despite her plain dressing in a white blouse and pencil skirt—classic teacher attire—she had a presence about her, a sort of air that was regal and glorious, that inspired some sort of awe in you. She was a legend, after all. One of Tohjo’s original saviors. This was Trainer Green the Evolver, defender of Kanto, former head of the Ranger’s Union, stalwart companion of Trainers Red, Blue, and Yellow. Conqueror of the Rocket League, restorer of balance, one of the most honored human beings in all the regions. It was no wonder that so many desired to learn from her, Celestine included.

But her smile was light, an affectionate show of pearly teeth, and when she walked over, she seemed so approachable that you could almost think she had never saved the world. That’s he had never waded into the belly of the beast and emerged victorious, dripping with the blood of her enemies. “It’s fine, Sere-chan. You were having such an in-depth discussion. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Celestine flushed and looked away. Draco had lifted his head and was watching Sensei with dark blue eyes, wide and waiting.

“Wow, looks nice,” Sensei remarked as she appraised her student’s work. She turned back to Celestine, arching a curious brow. “How long did it take?”

Celestine muttered under her breath, still too embarrassed to speak at an audible register.

“Come again?”

“Like, nine minutes,” Celestine repeated, this time a little louder. Her face was lit pink. Sensei had heard her babbling like a starry-eyed noob. One of the first things that Sensei taught was to keep your goals manageable—aim for the stars and you might get thrown off-course and get stuck in space forever. Or hit the sun, or something. The point was that being great was a hard thing to shoot for, and you should first choose to be good. Aim for good. Then, if you can, aim for great.

Sensei hummed thoughtfully. Celestine shifted her legs, and Draco’s tail fell on her thigh. It didn’t actually burn, but it very, very hot nonetheless. Too hot, actually.

But the anxiety swarming her insides kept her from noticing.

Sensei knelt down and gave the kindling an experimental. When her finger came away slick, her brows rose. “Lighter fluid?”

Gulping, Celestine nodded.

Sensei pursed her lips. “...interesting choice. Justify it.”

Okay. Moment of truth. “M-Maman says they do it all the time in Sinnoh—”

“This isn’t Sinnoh.”

Drat. Uh. What were the other reasons? Think Lavieaux, think!

“Rain!” Celestine blurted out. Then flinched. Way too loud. That was way too loud. Crap, she’s still staring—keep going, keep talking, go go go! “What if it rains and it’s too wet to ignite? Light fluid helps that!”

“But if you become too dependent on it, you could run out,” Sensei retorted evenly. Matter-of-fact. As though it were an inevitability. And Sensei was encouraging almost all the time. When her voice got flat, though, that meant she was disappointed. “And then what do you do?”

“They s-sell it c-cheap a-at any Carnelian shop,” Celestine stammered. She realized her mistake in mentioning the infamous Trainer gear franchise too late when Sensei’s eyes narrowed slightly. Sensei was from Saffron City, and that meant she supported Silph Co products. Not Devon Corp, not Carnelian, and definitely not Kalos’s Vie du Formateur. As far as Sensei was concerned, you couldn’t be proper Trainer without Silph Co products in your bag.

Sensei, to her credit, hid her annoyance well. “Carnelian products are known to be a bit on the cheap side.”

Maman said that Carnelian spent just as much money as Silph Co, and that the best products in the world were from Vie du Formateur. Of course, being from Kalos, Maman’s opinion would be biased. “I-It’s only until Draco evolves, and then he’ll be strong enough to light fires and big enough to keep me warm.”

Sensei was a stone statue, not a muscle moving, save for the deliberate slowness of her blink. “And if Draco dies?”

There was an uncomfortable prickle in the pack of Celestine’s throat, and she felt Draco tense on her lap. Death was not a topic most instructors broached, but Ayogai Midori was not most instructors. Ayogai Midori was frank and honest and she plowed right through topics like death and starvation and many other unpleasant things that they didn’t teach you about in the “sanitized” survival or battling classes. Ignorance was your greatest obstacle, in her opinion. That, and blind optimism. In her words, the best thing you could do to survive was to not only learn as much as you can, but also be practical and pragmatic when the situation called for it. Expect the worst, and know how to deal with it.

But that was a worst that Celestine couldn’t brace herself for, no matter how hard she tried. The concepts of Draco and dying pinballed around inside her skull, but they never connected, never made contact. She could not envision him as a corpse. Could not imagine life without him. He’d been by her side since she was seven and they had been training together since she was nine. Already, he was so dear to her as far more than a mere pet. He was her partner.

“He won’t die,” Celestine said flatly, even though she knew it would disappoint Sensei. Even though she knew it was irrational. All things died—with the exception of Draco. Draco would not die. He couldn’t.

Sensei sat back on her hunches and rubbed her fingers, smearing lighter fluid all over them. She didn’t look at Celestine, and her fringe did well to hide her expression, but Celestine thought she looked sad, almost. Lonely.

For a moment, there was only silence—city silence. Chatter and cars and the bustle of the streets, an invader in this corner of wilderness, planted by the region’s most honor savior, this fractured woman who dedicated herself to the betterment of future generations. Celestine held her breath without realizing it, and Draco watched with wide eyes, so still he might have been stuffed. But the warmth radiating from him kept him from being that, it kept her from mistaking him as dead.

“Losing a partner is the worst thing in the world,” Sensei announced after a while. “I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, and I hope you never experience it.”

Slowly, she stood, but the way she moved made it look like her joints were aching, like she was trying very deliberately not to aggravate an old wound. In that moment, Celestine was suddenly tempted to ask why—why Sensei seemed so old despite being so young, why she had that wizened jadedness in her eyes, why she spoke so casually about death as though it had long since lost its novelty, and why she had never, ever married, despite how much she talked about families and how wonderful it would be to start one.

Then Sensei looked at her with that beautiful brokenness and Celestine’s questions vanished.

“You did very well in the construction,” Sensei announced. Celestine blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in topic. “I still disagree on the lighter fluid, but I can also understand your reasoning behind it.”

Celestine mumbled a small thank you. Draco aimed her a look that said “I told you so” but she pretended not to notice.

Sensei smiled again in a slow, wry way, and suddenly there was no trace of the weariness she seemed to carry. Her face was smooth and her hair was shiny, and she looked youthful and beautiful, like a hero ought to. “It’s nippy out here and it smells like gas. Wanna go inside?”

Celestine nodded mutely. She gathered Draco in her arms, jumped to her feet, and dutifully followed Sensei inside. Staring at Sensei’s back, though, the whys flooded back, a thousand questions, and it slowed Celestine’s pace a little, made her feet heavy, those whys like weights tied to her ankles.

Why had Sensei become like this? Why had whatever she’d seen made her so world-weary? Was it that bad? Was the world that perilous? Was going on a Journey not worth it, after all?

Celestine pondered it, the meaning of a Journey. It was meant to be a rite of passage, an excursion of self-discovery. As you traveled the world, you were meant to change and grow and find pieces of yourself you’d never known were missing. But Celestine only knew a handful of people who had ventured out into the world—Sensei, Sensei’s friend Shigeru-san, Maman—and they all had this dullness to their gazes, this hardness and tiredness that blocked out the light and made them look so, so old. Even in the commercials Celestine had seen of the Tohjo Champion, Ethan Hibiki-Ogawara, he had the same weariness in him, the same sort of breakage that he, like the others, must have suffered out there in the real world. “The big bad world” Maman called it. Celestine wondered if there was some truth to that, to the supposed “cruelty” of the world, if there was something, some darkness, that truly did exist, like the boogeyman or the Grim Reaper. Something that lurked under beds and in closets and took hold of you when you thought you were safe, and if it sucked the life out of you, left you tired and dry and not so young anymore.

Growing up was a bore to Celestine. There was nothing wrong with being ten or twenty and acting like it. Why was being young such a bad thing? Why was dreaming a bad thing? Ambition, naiveté, blithe courage? Maybe in the world of adults, it was bad, but why did the world of adults have to exist at all? There was nothing wrong with imagination, with crying over little things because they seem so important at the time and they _are_. There was nothing wrong with childhood crushes or holding hands and wearing things that might look nice and not _caring_ what others thought. And there was nothing wrong with staying in Viridian, this big, bustling, vibrant city where she’d grown up and lived and never left. It was home to her. It always would be.

Why was childhood a bad thing, something that needed to be shed and cast away and forgotten?

Why did the light have to fade from people’s eyes?

Why were Journeys held in such high regard, if they forced you to grow up too fast? If they left you old and aching and beyond saving? If the world was dangerous, why venture into it? Why couldn’t you just stay home forever?

Sensei held herself like a woman who had once held the weight of the world on her shoulders, and had sagged beneath that weight, felt its attempts to crush her and had almost buckled, yielded, given in. But then the weight had suddenly come off, so now she stood too straight, constantly pushing back against something that wasn’t there anymore, even if the memory was fresh and amaranthine, a scar in the contours of her skull. Celestine wondered if, one day, she would become like that, that if she ventured out into the world one day she might return with a fracturing in her eyes and a wryness in her smile, a stiff too-straightness in the way she walked as though pushing back against a nonexistent burden. The idea of a tired, distant version of herself scared her a little, one with dull, lackluster eyes and a biting tongue and an apathy towards death, that one day she’d talk about it as though she were talking about the color of the sky or the heat from the sun, as though it were just another law of the universe she’d come to accept. Right now, she was quite content with her current understanding of death—this untouchable, unmentionable, enigmatic thing that she’d been fortunate enough never to experience, sheltered and privileged as she was.

But someday, it would happen. It was the second edge to a Journey, the shadow cast by the glow in the eyes of every beginning Trainer when they spoke of dreams that had not yet withered and of the new places they would see. But it scared Celestine, this shadow.

It scared her, so she bottled her questions and her fears and tucked them away deep inside of her. Shadows did not like being brought to light, after all.

There was one question, however, that persisted enough make it past her lips. “Hey Sensei? Why did you call the Champion a... what was the word?”

“Asshole,” Draco supplied.

“Right. Asshole. Why’d you call him that?”

They reached the building, and Sense pulled out her keys, fumbling for the one that opened the door. The clinking added to the symphony of city not-silence. “Because he is.”

“Why, though?”

Sensei cast a glance over her shoulder, one that was half-amusement and half-seriousness. It was an odd expression, but it described Sensei quite succinctly. “He was a real nasty kid, Sere-chan. Used to get into all sorts of trouble. Pissed a lot of people off—myself included.”

Celestine blinked. Her Champion used to be mean? That didn’t make sense. Villains didn’t become heroes. The line between them was distinct, defined, and there was meant to be no overlap or blurring. How could this be?

“But he’s nice now, right?” she asked.

Sensei hummed absently, her face scrunching up, brows furrowing and lips pursing. Celestine wondered if it was because she was thinking about it or she had gone back to looking for her key. “...kinda. He’s still way too arrogant and throws his weight around like he owns the world, but he’s mellowed out well enough.”

Mellowed out meant turned good, didn’t it? “So why’d you call him an asshole?”

Sensei had finally found the right key and jammed in into the lock. She flashed a smile at Celestine over her shoulder. “Because, my darling pupil, there are people who are assholes on the outside even if they’re nice deep down. It’s why you should never judge someone too quickly.”

Celestine pondered that as Sensei opened the door and they stepped inside. When the door closed, it blocked out the city sounds, but it blocked out the wilderness as well. Draco’s warmth was steady against Celestine’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to save this one for Oct 31st because that is, canonically, Celestine's birthday. Plus, I really wanted to write younger!Celestine. (and it's so long this took me three days to write)
> 
> This is officially complete! Thank you to everyone who read this! It very much helped me get back in the groove and inspired me to write more of C'est La Vie. Keep your eyes out for the next chapter, okay?
> 
> Sincerely yours,  
> Luna


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